Monster In My Room
by hbrackett
Summary: Stiles and Isaac are brothers in the Lahey home, and life couldn't seem to get any worse. The day Stiles snaps is also the day he gets attacked by something in the woods. The Hales, the Argents and even the world had better be prepared for what gets unleashed. Dark!Stiles has had enough. Themes of abuse (all kinds), so be warned. Definitely T/M rating.
1. Chapter 1

_**So there are these great writers out there who have written 'Stiles gets abused' stories but got nailed by every author's archenemy: the writer's block demon. While said demon is working on keeping me from finishing my other work, I decided to write this while the imp is distracted. I can't have the abuser be the Sheriff (esp since there is a canon abuser already there), so in this AU I am having Isaac and Stiles be brothers in the Lahey home. Stiles is 16, while Isaac is 15. Scott and the rest will be 16 and Derek will be 17. It takes place before the series and things may not go as they do on the show. I promised myself I would not publish the first chapter until the whole thing was written, so if you are reading this then it is done. I will put out new chapters every week or every ten reviews (that's not blackmail, just a good pacing rule). I tend to write Sterek these days, but other pairings may be possible. Be warned that themes of abuse will be very disturbing to some. Expect images of physical/emotional abuse and hints of even worse. Hints of Dark!Stiles.**_

Stiles' stomach started to hurt as it always did at 6pm on weekdays…exactly 15 minutes before Sam Lahey would walk in the door like giant in Jack & the Beanstalk. Isaac frantically finished washing the dishes with shaking hands while Stiles was making sure the chairs were all pushed in properly after he swept the floor. After ten years, they knew the thousand and one flaws Sam might find with their work and they thoroughly checked and checked and checked again. Isaac made sure each dish was free of stains while Stiles got on his hands and knees and looked for stray dirt or dust-kitties. Everything seemed perfect. Just as Isaac was putting the last dry dish in the cupboard, lights flooded the driveway. Isaac jumped, and the dish clattered to the floor…but by the grace of the gods it didn't break. Isaac screamed at the sound and stared at the dish with wide-eyed terror.

Footsteps on the driveway. Stiles snatched the dish off the floor and stuck it in the cupboard before grabbing the broom and racing to the closet by the front door. Just as he hurled the broom inside and slammed the door, the front door opened and his father stood there glaring at him.

"Hi, Dad. How was your-"

"Out of my way." Sam pushed Stiles into the wall hard enough for a flashbulb to go off before his eyes. Though the brothers were in their mid-teens, they were shorter, weaker and weighed far less than most of the other kids their age. They rarely ate, rarely slept and rarely knew a moment's peace. "Unload the tools from the truck."

Stiles struggled to his feet and ran to obey.

Sam stomped into the kitchen and took the beer that Isaac had opened and was already holding out to him.

"What do you want for dinner, Dad?" Isaac asked, his blue eyes wide with fear.

"Hungry man. The big one." Sam switched on the radio and yanked out a chair, dropping heavily into it. He gazed around the kitchen, his look lazy and slow though the boys knew from experience that those eyes missed _nothing_. That was one of his tricks…his many tricks.

Isaac got the box out of the freezer, tore it open and stuck the tray in the microwave. All Sam ever ate was microwaveable stuff. Stiles and Isaac usually had a choice of Cheerios (no milk) or Ramen noodles, plus whatever they got at school.

There was a big freezer in the basement, but of course that wasn't for food.

The microwave dinged and Isaac hurriedly pulled out the tray, hissing as it burned his fingers. He grabbed the dish, the same one that he had dropped, and carefully scraped the turkey slices and gravy, steamed vegetables, mashed potatoes and cake onto the dish (Sam hated eating out of the tray) before handing it to his father.

Sam listened to the game while Isaac stood too afraid to leave without permission but almost too scared to stay either. He watched Sam scrape the fork around the plate, the food slowly disappearing. If they could get through dinner without an incident, Sam would go and watch television for a few hours. He usually ignored the boys from then until he went to bed. Stiles and Isaac would be safe at least for the night.

The last bit of food was devoured. Isaac stepped closer to take the plate when Sam suddenly looked sharply at the dish.

There was a hairline crack down the middle.

"Huh," was all Sam said. Stiles came in through the kitchen door and took in the scene.

"W-w-what, Dad?" Isaac asked.

"Dish is broken." He pointed to the crack. "Can you see it?"

Isaac peered at the plate, trying not to panic. "It's h-hard to t-tell…"

"Here, I'll help you see it." Sam raised the plate and broke it over Isaac's head.

"DAD!" Stiles yelled. Isaac had dropped to the floor and was sliding himself backward till he hit the wall. His head was bleeding.

"You raising your voice to me, boy?" Sam got up out of the chair and walked over to Stiles.

"I was the one who dropped the dish. I was hoping you wouldn't see." Stiles lied. He knew he had just bought himself a night in the freezer, but Isaac had already been in twice this week and Stiles knew a third night would break him.

"You were, huh? Think you can just go around breaking my things and get away with it? Maybe if you were up front and honest with me, I wouldn't have to punish you."

Stiles said nothing. This was an outright lie as Stiles learned from experience at a very young age.

"You boys need to be punished. One of you gets the night in the freezer. Who do you want it to be?"

"Me, Dad." Stiles hoped Sam would let him use the bathroom first. Isaac gave him an unbelieving look.

"That's why it's going to be Isaac." Sam lurched to his feet and grabbed the now cowering and screaming boy, flinging open the basement door and stomping down the stairs.

Stiles stared after him, shocked. Hatred filled him, and he ground his teeth while he shook with fury. He looked around the kitchen again, this time for a weapon…a knife, a cast iron skillet, a goddamn meat cleaver, anything so that he could kill the monster and rescue his brother. But the hatred turned to fear again as his father returned.

He grinned at his eldest son. "Mad at me, ain't ya? Good. That will do you some good in the world when you turn eighteen and I finally kick your ass out of this house. Then it will be just me and little Isaac for another year…all alone. Maybe if you get a job and make some damn money for me to pay me back for putting a roof over your head, I won't be so hard on him."

Stiles brought his emotions under control. "Dad…I am begging you. Please put me in the freezer. Isaac can't take it."

Sam strode to the fridge and grabbed his second beer. He dropped into the chair again, leering at Stiles. "What'll you do for me, boy, in return for that?"

Stiles closed his eyes, and felt something die inside him. Maybe his soul. "Anything you want, Dad."

{}{}{}{}

Later, Stiles walked down the basement stairs with Sam and watched him unlock the chains and open the lid. Isaac lay there already in a puddle of his own waste. His eyes were closed and he was breathing shallowly. Stiles hated the thought of himself locked in here, unable to protect his brother. Isaac wouldn't tell him what, if anything, Sam did to him on those nights. Stiles tried not to think about it.

Stiles leaned into the freezer to try and help Isaac out when his father got behind him and lifted his legs up, tumbling him into the freezer _on top _of his brother. "There you go, just like I promised!" he said roughly.

"DAD!" Stiles yelled for the second time that night.

The lid slammed down, and the chains were locked in place.

"You want to learn to control that temper, boy. Next time I see that look in your eye, your brother is going to get the tin snips to his fingers." Sam went back upstairs.

The fury returned again, and seemed to race through him in alternating hot and cold flashes. It felt like it was going to consume him, and leave nothing behind. His heart was pounding fiercely as he gently tried to maneuver his brother so that it was Stiles lying on the bottom, with Isaac on top of him. He hugged his unresponsive brother tightly, tried not to think about the pool underneath him, tried not to think about the taste in his mouth, tried not to think about anything at all. He slipped his mind sideways…and for a brief blessed time, he got his wish.

He was no longer there.

{}{}{}{}

He woke at the sound of his father's truck racing away. Stiles gently moved his exhausted brother enough to free his arm, then reached up to push at the lid to the freezer…dreading the idea that Sam might have forgotten to unlock the chain. The stench in the freezer was nightmarish…Stiles had to get them out and get them cleaned up for school.

The lid opened easily, but Stiles gave a short scream of pain. His hand was bleeding, and his knuckles felt as if he had punched a brick wall. The inside of the freezer lid was dented and bloody.

Isaac came awake and looked at Stiles. They were both sweaty and filthy…and relieved that the monster was gone for the day. Isaac climbed out and helped Stiles get stiffly to his feet.

"You okay, Sty?" Isaac asked.

Stiles just nodded, then sent him off to shower. This was a new low for Sam Lahey (Stiles couldn't think of him as 'Dad' though he called him that to his face). He had never thrown both of them in there before…if they were normal sized kids they would never have fit…though Stiles didn't doubt for a moment that Sam would have _made_ them fit.

When Isaac was done, Stiles brushed his teeth and rinsed with mouthwash for five full minutes, deliberately ignoring a certain snippet of memory from the night before.

They ate some dry cereal, got dressed and boarded the school bus when it came around. Jackson Whittemore, their neighbor from across the street pelted Isaac with spitballs until Stiles looked around at him.

"Stop it, Jack-ass," he growled at Whittemore.

"Make me, freak," Jackson quipped back.

Stiles felt that strange hot/cold feeling again, and had the weirdest sensation of almost being _pulled_ someplace. Then the bus driver yelled at him to sit down and it went away. The rest of the ride was uneventful.

{}{}{}{}

Stiles walked Isaac to his class before heading over to his own. They had both been marked by the student populace, and Stiles had more fights on his record than nearly any other student…none of which he had started. Though Stiles was not very strong, he would go in with both fists swinging whenever anyone messed with either of them…and the bully (always the victor) would nonetheless walk away with some memento of the fight. A bloody nose, a good kick to the shin…more if he was lucky…they always got something to remember Stiles by.

Stiles sat down in front of his on-again/off-again friend Scott who seemed to be busy mooning over some new brunette transfer student. Stiles gazed over at Lydia for a moment before she glanced at him, smiled, and said "Look somewhere else!" He sighed heavily.

A pencil jabbed into his neck.

Stiles turned around to see that Jackson had switched seats with Scott. Scott was now sitting next to the brunette and was chatting her up, leaving Whittemore free to torment Stiles.

Jab.

Jab.

"Stop that, Jack-ass." Stiles growled. His stomach turned over, and his heart began to pound again. With each beat, the hot and cold flash would flood his body. Hot/cold. Hot/cold. Hot/cold.

Jab.

The other kids snickered. Lydia glanced over and smirked. Scott looked around, seemed amazed to realize there were other people in the room, and went back to talking to the girl. Whoever she was, she quickly took in the situation and stuck her tongue out at Jackson. Stiles suddenly decided he liked her.

Jab.

The other kids were snickering louder, though Harris had still not noticed anything…or was pretending not to. He hated Stiles, and let Jackson get away with murder most days.

Jab.

"I mean it, fucking stop that you jerk!" Stiles hissed.

Jackson leaned forward and whispered into Stiles ear. "Let me make this clear for you, midget. You can either sit here and shut up and take a few jabs, or we fight. If we fight, I'll win. If you manage to get in a lucky hit, I'll come back with twenty of my friends and we'll murder you. If you run away and hide, you're a coward. If you tell, you're a snitch. If the school calls your house, than your dear daddy will kick your ass. You're trapped…there's nothing you can do…so sit back…and enjoy. Oh, and I'll need to borrow your pencil. Mine just broke."

Stiles gripped the sides of his desk, listening to the snickers, feeling the stares, and rolling Jackson's words though his mind. A sharp pain suddenly split his head.

{}{}{}{}

Jackson chuckled as Stiles gave a sharp gasp. What a wimp. Stiles turned slowly around to look at him, and his eyes were wide and staring.

"What's your problem, geek?" Jackson asked. The kid was starting to freak him out.

Stiles leaned forward suddenly, making Jackson flinch backwards. The handsome blond cursed himself under his breath.

Stiles grinned at him. "Let _me_ make this clear for _you_. I am giving you three strikes. Just like in baseball…and after that…_you're out_. We start right now."

Stiles faced forward again.

Jackson jabbed Stiles in the neck again, curious to see what the twerp would do.

"That's strike one!" Stiles muttered. He raised his hand.

"Yes, Stiles? What is it?" asked Harris.

"Jackson is jabbing me with a pencil. I'd like you to stop him." Stiles said clearly.

Harris shrugged. "What do you want me to do about it?" The kids snickered, Jackson loudest of all.

"Nothing, Mr. Harris." Stiles grinned at him.

Jab.

"This is strike two, Jackson." Stiles got up and walked out of the room, ignoring Harris' outraged squawk. He returned a moment later with Mr. Leach, the school's discipline officer. Mr. Leach was ex-military, and felt that school should not only educate you, but make you into a young man, a young _soldier_.

"Mr. Leach, Jackson Whittemore is jabbing me with a pencil. I'd like you to stop him." Stiles said clearly, pointing at Jackson.

Leach smirked. "Want me to fight your battles for you? That's not how life works."

Stiles merely grinned again, and said "No, thank you Mr. Leach."

To the other kids, this was better than watching television. They all gazed at Stiles as he returned to his seat and sat down as if nothing were wrong. Leach went back to his office to dream about what it would have been like to be Ghengis Khan.

"Stiles, you have detention today with me after school for leaving my class without my permission," Harris snapped.

"I'd like to, but that will be impossible, Sir," Stiles responded. He seemed to bubble with dark humor.

"And why is that?" Harris snapped again.

"You'll see." Stiles leaned back in his chair, closed his eyes and folded his arms across his chest. He was still grinning. Even Scott had forgotten about the brunette for the moment and was openly gaping at him.

"A warning. Strike three is next. Believe me, you won't like it." Stiles whispered.

For the last time he would ever do so, Jackson Whittemore jabbed Stiles in the neck with his pencil.

Stiles stood up, and picked up his chair.

"Strike three!" he shouted. "You're out!" He swung the chair down on Jackson's head with all his strength.

{}{}{}{}

Sheriff Steven Stilinski pulled up to the school, sighing and rubbing his aching back. Another damn bullying incident. He met with the school principal who briefed him on the situation.

"What happened to Whittemore?" Steven asked.

"Concussion, head trauma, bleeding. He'll make a full recovery."

"And the Lahey boy?"

"I'd rather you speak to him personally." Steven walked into the room reserved for detention and spied Stiles sitting by himself with his hands folded in front of him. He looked like a star pupil who had just completed a difficult essay.

"So, Stiles…care to tell me why you broke a chair over Whittemore's head?" he asked.

"Jackson was jabbing me in the neck with his pencil. I asked him to stop and he wouldn't. I thought he might damage my spinal cord and paralyze me. I was afraid for my life, Sir." Stiles looked as if he had never in his life been afraid of anything.

"I see. Did you ask a teacher for help? That _is_ what you're supposed to do in these situations, you know."

"Yes, I did Sir. I asked Mr. Harris for help. Why don't you call him in here and ask him how he responded?"

Steven did so. Harris looked very uncomfortable.

"You told him 'what do you want me to do about it'? Aren't you a teacher, Harris?" Steven was disgusted. This was why bullying was such a big problem these days.

"Well, you see…" Harris began.

"Out." Harris left. Steven looked down at Stiles once more. "All right, I understand that not all teachers are helpful…did you go to anyone else?"

"Yes, Sir. Mr. Leach."

The scenario was repeated with Mr. Leach, and Steven became even angrier. He called the principal back in. "I want this boy's conduct records, and Whittemore's."

After reading through the file, which boasted a clean conduct report and not one single fight in which Stiles was the antagonist, Steven sighed and looked at the calm and placid teenage boy in front of him.

"Son," he began.

"Don't call me that." Stiles snapped. He shuddered for a moment. "Please."

Steven gazed at him. "All right, Stiles. What I see before me is a young man who has reached his breaking point. The school is going to suspend you for three days, and that will be the end of the matter. I have multiple witnesses who all state Whittemore started with you and none of the staff helped. Pretty clever when you think about it; coupled with your self-defense argument, you basically found a way to put a guy in the hospital and almost completely avoid any consequences. The suspension is mandatory for any students who respond to a fight…but no court would rule you guilty of anything. Did you set all this up in advance, knowing you were going to hit him?"

Stiles shrugged. "What does it matter? If he left me alone, he wouldn't have blood coming out of his ears right now."

"It matters because, I need to know if anything like this will ever happen again." The Sheriff gave him a steady glare, the kind he always imagined he would have used on his own son if he'd had one.

Stiles shrugged again. "That's the beauty of it, Sir. If you'd seen the other kids faces…you'd know I'm probably the safest kid in the whole school right now…"

{}{}{}{}

By the time the Sheriff was done questioning Stiles, it was already 6:15. Sam Lahey was home, and had no doubt listened to the answering machine message describing today's events. The Sheriff offered to drive them home, but the boys refused. Sam Lahey would murder them if he saw them talking to a cop and possibly revealing some family secrets. They left the school and walked home slowly. They took their usual shortcut through the woods.

"What so you think Dad will say?" Isaac asked fearfully.

"Don't care." Stiles said. "I'm not really caring about a lot of things right now."

The full moon shone down on them through the trees. It got dark quick this time of year, but they knew the way pretty well.

With maybe a quarter mile left to go, the boys started at the sound of a giant twig snapping. Isaac was frozen and vainly trying to see through the dark trees.

Something ruby red flashed in the darkness, and a low growl made Isaac shriek in fright.

"Isaac, get back to the house and get Dad…NOW!" Stiles shoved his little brother in the direction of home while he groped about for anything usable as a weapon. His hands found a thick branch which he raised before him, ready to attack. The small, newly awakened part of him was excited. Maybe he would get to clobber _two_ monsters in a single day.

Isaac pelted away, and Stiles was left alone in the woods with whatever was out there. He hoped it hadn't gone after Isaac, and was almost grateful to hear the creature's footsteps come towards him. He knew he should run, should be afraid, should be pissing his pants…but whatever had snapped in him today had taken his fear along with it. He just didn't care what this thing could do to him.

When the red eyes opened in front of him, he jumped backward and swung the branch wildly. It was ripped out of his grip. The thing knocked him down, was on top of him…and those eyes were boring directly into him.

Then it _spoke_.

"I was going to eat you. But I think…someone has beaten me to it." the creature said. It sounded inhuman, like someone speaking after they gargled with gravel.

"Great, skinny jokes from the Boogeyman." Stiles told it.

It chuckled thickly. "Oh, I wasn't talking about the flesh…I was talking about what's in here…" A claw sliced open his shirt and opened a three inch long gash in the teen's chest.

Stiles screamed, not in terror but in pure _rage_…he was so sick of being hurt all the time…his Dad, the kids at school and now even storybook monsters were getting in on the act. He flailed at the thing on top of him, punching it as hard as he could, hitting it's muzzle, it's great head, it's enormous body…he even hit the thing's mouth, and sure enough it caught his wrist and bit down hard. Stiles screamed again, yanking his arm hard as he could. Then the beast was gone as suddenly as it came. Stiles lay there, still furious, chest heaving and breath hitching as he came down from his shock. Then a great weariness came over him, and the world went away. The moon shone down silently on his still form…and perhaps knowing things that even the beast did not, it wisely decided to hide itself behind some clouds.


	2. Chapter 2

_**A/N – At the risk of offending one of my most rabid fans (that's you, Emrys90 lol) I'll put Chapter 2 up today. Hope you enjoy. Thanks to everyone else who favorited and alerted and reviewed, you guys are awesome.**_

At first when Stiles woke up, he thought he was in a coffin. Then the smell hit him, and he remembered that he was someplace even worse.

The fucking freezer.

He tried to piece together how he had gotten here. There was school…then Jackson…then…he killed Jackson. Or did his best to try to.

He grinned wide, and it seriously felt like someone else inside him used his face to do it; someone that had just floated up from the bottom of a deep black pool…like something _dead._

He tried to be scared, but forgot how to be. He sat up and closed his eyes, rubbing his face with his hands. The smell in here was really the worst it had ever been…Stiles could not remember the reek being so bad.

He heard something then…something that seemed far away and yet still loud enough to reach him. Fear ripped through him (guess he did remember how to be afraid…just not for himself anymore)…it was Isaac.

"Dad, stop it, _no please Daddy don't do it!"_

The sleeve over Stiles' right bicep tore, and his arm almost seemed to vibrate. His spine gave a loud ratcheting sound and the bottom of his shirt was now four inches above his waist. He shot his fist upward like a cannonball, knowing he was going to kill his hand (maybe for good) but not caring. Rage was like a river of lava, and he was swimming in the deepest part of it. There was the sound of tearing metal as the lid crumpled like tin foil. Stiles hit it again and again, and, hell did it feel _good_ to crush something, black happiness filled him as he destroyed the box that served as his prison cell almost all of his life. When the chain finally snapped, he practically exploded out of the battered appliance.

_How the hell had he gotten so strong?_

Didn't matter. He had to save his brother.

{}{}{}{}

The sight that met him when he walked into the bedroom that he shared with his brother confirmed his deepest suspicions, made real his worst nightmares.

Sam Lahey was drunk, shirtless, and in the process of wrestling a terrified Isaac into a position that would help him carry out the kind of assault he had in mind. Isaac's clothing was already more than half torn off of him, and he sported numerous new scratches and bruises including a swollen eye and bleeding split lip.

"_**SAM!"**_ Stiles roared at him. He was never going to refer to this thing as his father ever ever again.

Sam Lahey whirled around, pointed unsteadily at his older son and spoke in a slurred voice.

"'Ow the fuck you get outta the box? Where you getoff calling me 'Sam'? I'm your father you little shit!" Sam blinked at him a few times. "The fuck, you have a growth spurt or somethin'?"

"We had a deal, old man. Do you remember what the deal was?" Stiles said in a low and deadly voice.

Sam shook his head. "Nope, don't remember makin' any deals with no piece of shit kids."

Stiles moved towards him, and something in the way the boy was looking at him made the bigger man back up a step.

"Let me remind you. The deal was…you do whatever you wanted to me…and I'd _let you_, I'd _cooperate_…as long as you _left Isaac alone_. Do you remember that deal? I fucking remember it…but it looks like you forgot."

Sam grinned uncertainly. He chalked it up to the alcohol, but he was feeling more and more powerless while he looked into his son's eyes. Fuck, they almost seemed to be glowing. He picked up a nearby lamp and hurled it suddenly into Stiles' face. Stiles snatched it out of the air and in one motion threw it right back. It exploded in Sam's face, and he roared in agony. He lunged at Stiles, tackling him to the floor and punched him in the face over and over again. He did it until he was out of breath, panting heavily and grinning at the bloody mess he had made of his son's face.

"That's fixed you, you little shit. That's fixed-" Sam's voice died away in his throat.

The blood was flowing backward like movie footage in reverse. It pooled into the wounds which sealed shut before his eyes. The puffed swollen skin went down, and the discoloration faded away. When the eyes opened…they seemed to be on freaking fire.

Stiles felt his mouth crowd with new teeth…felt the sliding of thick claws push out of his fingers. He had no idea how it had happened, but one thing was obvious.

At long last…_he_ was the monster now…and he felt a monster's joy in that fact.

Sam moved backward until he was sliding on his ass towards the nearest wall, just like Isaac always used to do. Stiles went from lying prone on the floor to standing in one move. He didn't climb to his feet…he was just suddenly _on_ them.

"Can't hurt me anymore old man…but I think I can do a good job hurting you." His voice was getting deeper, becoming a monster's voice, just like that thing in the woods…

And now Stiles knew how this had happened.

"St-Stiles? Wha-what the hell is happening to you?" Isaac screamed from the bed.

"Go downstairs, Isaac. You don't want to see this."

Isaac looked at his monster brother, then at his monster father.

"Actually, I do," Isaac said softly. Sam gave Isaac an unbelieving look.

Stiles shrugged. "Suit yourself."

"_SON!"_ Sam Lahey shrieked. It was the last word he ever spoke.

{}{}{}{}

The boys worked together to clean up the blood. It was not the first time they had done this kind of work…but it was the first time the blood had come from someone besides one of them.

"You're…" Isaac began.

"Yeah?" Stiles stopped mopping and looked at him.

"Taller." Isaac finished.

This was true. Stiles might even have an inch or two on Jackson now. Whatever was inside him was pushing his body to the limit of his potential. The gash on his chest was gone, the bite on his wrist was gone…everything was gone.

"That thing in the woods…" Isaac let the sentence hang unfinished.

"Yep." Stiles finished mopping and went to dump the bucket into the toilet.

"I want to be one too. Do you think if you bit me…" Isaac's voice squeaked on the last two words.

Stiles shook his head. "Whatever that thing was…it's more of it than what I am. I can't change that far. I don't think it would work. And I would never do anything that would hurt you like that anyway."

Isaac gestured down at the stained rug wrapped around the remains of Sam Lahey's body. "Do you…do you feel bad about that? I don't. I know we should, but-"

Stiles shook his head. "No, we shouldn't."

The house seemed different, smaller now. Maybe because of his new height, or maybe because the looming presence of their longtime tormentor was gone from the air. It looked fake, like the set of some spooky television show.

He closed himself into the bathroom and pulled the stained and shredded clothes off and took a long hot shower. He scrubbed himself nearly raw, trying to get something besides blood off of him, but couldn't give whatever it was a name. He wrapped a towel around his waist as he wracked his brain trying to figure out what to do next.

He sniffed the air sharply, then tore out of the bathroom.

Isaac was sitting on his bed, and he wasn't alone in the room.

A man was sitting comfortably in Stiles' desk chair. He was well dressed with dark brown hair and could have passed for a well-mannered and polite looking chap, except for the eyes. They were as dead as Sam Lahey was.

"Hello young man. I didn't mean to intrude, but I was passing by and caught the scent of about 6 pints of blood lying around outside of its usual habitat and just had to investigate. Welcome to your first day of independence."

"Who are you? I know you're the thing that bit me. Why did you do it? What do you want from me?" Stiles demanded. He knew he was no match for this thing, but he would have no problem sacrificing himself so Isaac could get away…and he would make sure this guy remembered the fight.

"Ah. My name is Peter. And I bit you because I want to use you to help me destroy some of my enemies."

"At least you're blunt about the 'using' part." Stiles was half expecting to hear some line of bullshit.

"It is pointless for us to lie to each other, the heartbeat gives it away. I don't bear either of you any ill will, though what I have in mind for you will be very dangerous."

"Why would I want to help you?" Stiles' eyes flashed gold.

Peter grinned. "Because I have helped _you._ I want revenge, plain and simple. Some people took my family from me. They need to be taught a lesson."

"Lesson? Does that mean you want to kill them?" The guy was nuts; the more he spoke the clearer that became. That was okay. Stiles was kind of nuts too now.

"That's the lesson. You don't get a second chance. I have assisted you in your revenge, and your delightful brother here tells me he would just love to join the club. I can give it to him…after you help me."

Stiles frowned. Despite that he was telling the truth, Stiles didn't trust the guy at all. He had gotten a very similar feeling of menace from his father, as if by killing Sam he had just made his father come back in a new form.

"You want to be careful making deals with me, _Peter._ He broke a deal with me." Stiles gestured at the corpse. "It ended badly."

"I'll risk it. Just this once. I can count on your help, then? As a bonus, I'll help make sure no one ever discovers this. Your house will burn tonight." Peter's smile slipped about 70 notches. "I've recently become an expert on arson, you see." Peter's eyes flashed crimson…he was furious, but not at them.

Stiles made a connection in his mind. "Shit…you're Peter _Hale_, aren't you?" The whole town remembered the tragedy that had claimed the lives of one of its more prominent families.

"I was once."

Stiles had no reason to help this guy, none at all…but he really liked what he had done to Sam, and wanted to do it some more. There were a few people on his list, and Peter could help train him to use his new gifts to get rid of them.

"I'll help you. But no matter what happens…you don't touch or threaten my brother…_ever…_do you promise this?"

Peter waved a hand as if this were nothing. "If you will cooperate fully, then by all means yes. When we are done, and if we are still alive and well, you are both free to do as you wish."

Nothing changed about the guy's heartbeat, though Stiles wasn't sure what he was listening for.

"Isaac, we'll need to get our stories straight for the cops when they come."

"Stiles…where are we going to live? We have no family or friends!" Isaac was looking around the room wildly, already wondering if it was going to be for the last time.

Peter cleared his throat. "I would be happy to take you boys in, after this is finished. It would be too suspicious to do it now. I'm sure social services will place you here in town in the meantime."

Stiles fixed his gaze on Peter. "Do you know why I killed him?" he pointed at Sam.

"I would imagine he was violent with you. There is a lot of that going on these days, sad to say. It was one of the things that led me to Turn you. I thought you would have the right mindset for the job…and I was right."

"He didn't just beat us, he terrorized us. He locked us in a meat freezer, sometimes overnight. The last time we were in it together…half drowning in our own piss." Stiles' voice got very low. "He raped me. A few times. He tried to do it to Isaac tonight. I'd…just as soon not put us in that situation again. You understand."

Something flickered in Peter's eyes. Shock…and something else. Stiles almost thought it might be guilt…but that was insane.

Peter reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a worn photograph. It was some kind of family gathering, a bunch of adults and not a few kids all smiling up into the camera. The face of one of the girls was worn through, as if Peter had rubbed his thumb over the spot for hours on end.

"I won't say that I've never hurt a member of my family…but what I did was out of necessity, and it was mercifully quick."

"Think you might ever hurt _us_ out of necessity, Peter?" Stiles waited for his response.

"I sincerely hope not," he said simply.

{}{}{}{}

The two boys watched the only home they had ever known burn to the ground. Whatever that weird chemical was that he'd poured all over the place made the fire burn hotter than Hell. The fire hoses did nothing to dampen the flames, and soon there was nothing left but charred timbers and ash. Stiles looked around half-expecting to see Jackson standing there gloating, but then remembered that he had given the blond an extended hospital vacation. Maybe Mr. Whittemore would come out and pick a fight…Stiles almost hoped so, though Peter had cautioned him about displaying his powers openly. There were Hunters in town, and they looked for stuff like that…they'd probably be suspicious about the fire. The boys needed to lay low until they could be safe.

"So, young Stiles, we meet again. And this must be Isaac."

Stiles had smelled Sheriff Stilinski step up behind him. The heightened senses were a kick. Stiles screwed up his face and tried to make himself cry. Nothing happened. He smeared some of the soot on his hands down his cheeks so that it looked like he already had. He would go for 'shock'. Isaac actually was crying, but he did that a lot these days, sometimes for no reason.

The Sheriff took in Isaac's battered face and body and whistled softly.

"You boys have anyone we can call?" he asked gently.

They shook their heads.

"Well let's get you into the ambulance, and we can talk some more tomorrow. Social Services will be sending someone up to speak with you as well."

They walked off.

"Stiles," called the Sheriff when they were almost there.

"Yeah?" he called back.

The Sheriff looked from the house to the boys…then to the body bag that contained the burned remains of Sam Lahey.

"Nevermind. Get a good night's rest."

{}{}{}{}

The boys were given beds next to each other after Stiles made it clear that his brother was not leaving his sight. The hospital staff looked at his grim expression and decided not to push the matter. Lucky for them.

Scott's mother came in, and it looked like she'd been crying. She hugged Stiles (awkward to the max) and planted a kiss on his forehead. She did the same to Isaac, and Stiles watched his brother throw his arms around her and squeeze her tight. Stiles bit his lip. Sam's abuse had not gotten to Isaac as deeply as it had Stiles…it would have with time, but Isaac was still able to feel things…good things. They had known Scott's mother for years (and the nurse was responsible for more than a few calls to Social Services when their frequent visits to the hospital aroused her suspicions) and liked her. A year ago Stiles was much closer with Scott (before he became girl-crazy), and he even had the brothers over for lunch one Saturday. The normal meal with (relatively) normal people was a surreal experience. Sam Lahey broke Stiles' arm when they got home because he forgot to restock the fridge's beer supply from the basement, and Stiles forgot about Scott for a long time. When he was out of the hospital, Scott had made other friends. Neither boy made much of an effort to reconnect.

Melissa came to tell him that according to the tests on Stiles, he seemed to be in the peak of health.

"That's really odd," Melissa said, looking at his chart.

"What?"

"I thought I remembered you having a tonsillectomy, so I checked your records and I was right. They seem to have grown back."

Stiles felt a chill go through him.

"Is that normal?" he asked, trying to sound mildly curious.

"It does happen. I had a cousin who grew just one back. You also grew back your upper right second molar. Supernumerary teeth are rarer than winning a lottery."

Stiles had almost forgotten when Sam had knocked the tooth out of his head two years before. Stiles hadn't done anything at all that day. Sam just felt like hitting him. He debated telling Melissa it was an dental implant, but figured it would take her two seconds to discover the lie.

"You'll probably be released soon. Isaac on the other hand," she said turning to face him. "will be staying with us a few weeks. How do you feel?"

"Fine, ma'am," he said, averting his eyes. He barely made eye contact with anyone besides Stiles anymore.

"Oh, don't you 'ma'am' me. Call me Melissa. I'll leave you two boys alone…try to get some rest. I'll have some food sent up for you, then get some sleep."

Stiles grimaced. Hospital food (of which he was a connoisseur) was the only thing worse than school food. He was very surprised when Scott walked in with a steaming paper sack from Burger Barn. The bottom dropped out of Stiles' stomach, and his mouth watered…literally.

"Hey guys. My mom had me bring this up, she figured you could do better than that cardboard they pass of as Salisbury Steak. She would have sent something home-cooked if she weren't working." Scott passed both boys a ½ pound cheeseburger with ketchup, with sides of greasy onion rings and curly fries. Stiles wondered if he'd died and gone to heaven.

Scott gaped at them while they wolfed down their burgers, belching hugely and laughing about it after. He tossed them some Cokes from the vending machine to wash it down.

"Scott, tell your Mom she is my absolute hero." Stiles sighed contentedly before settling back down into his pillows. He never realized how high a good meal could get you. Isaac looked pretty blissed out too.

"Hey, Sty…sorry about your-"

Stiles glared at him. "Don't worry about it."

Scott swallowed nervously, suddenly realizing that for two teenagers who had just lost their father and their house in a horrible fire, they were coping with it remarkably well.

"Okay. Goodnight then." He left the room.

When Stiles was sure they were alone, he sat up and tried to pull Isaac's attention away from the Aquaman cartoon he found on the television.

"Isaac, how the hell did I wind up in the freezer after Peter attacked me in the woods?"

"I got to the house and brought Dad. I kept screaming he needed to call the hospital…that's when he split my lip. Even though there was blood on you, he couldn't find any wound…he thought I made up the monster to cover up what you did to Jackson. But when he still couldn't wake you, he put you in freezer because he…because he wanted to…"

"I got it." Dull rage pulsed through him again…and he wondered if he would ever get to sleep.

"I thought you were going to _eat_ Dad…but you just tore him up."

"I don't want any piece of that bastard inside me. There's enough of him in there already." Stiles growled.

Eventually, Isaac fell asleep to the cartoon, and he had a look of peace Stiles hadn't seen in years.

Stiles pulled the cover up and rolled over on his side. He held his hand up and stared at it

"Come on out," he whispered. Obligingly, his fingertips throbbed as the claws emerged. "Go away," he told them. They pulled back in.

He made the fangs grow in his mouth then, exploring them with his tongue, feeling their sharpness. He pressed his thumb against one of their sharp points and looked at the bead of blood that welled up…before being pulled back in. It was almost too much to take in. Stiles had never felt so powerful in his entire life. Then there were the internal changes…how much better he could see, smell and hear…the strength and energy that was like a fountain within him…it seemed odd that he had been so afraid of his father, of the other kids…of everything. It all seemed so ridiculous, like being afraid of the Easter Bunny.

He wanted so badly to share this with Isaac…if…no, when…Peter kept his word and turned his brother, then they would be so GONE from Beacon Hills. Stiles would become an adult and be able to care for him legally…although Isaac would be a little badass motherfucking werewolf too…maybe Stiles could relax and not have to hover over him so much. The kid deserved a real life…hell, they both did…one that was far away from here.


	3. Chapter 3

Stiles opened his eyes and beheld the Sheriff sitting across from him. He blearily wondered if the man had found some evidence to pin Sam Lahey's murder on him. Stiles gave a great cheek stretching yawn. They would never take him alive…he didn't want to maul a bunch of cops and turn the hospital into a bloodbath, but he would if he had to. He would confess first, so that they left Isaac alone, maybe come for him after the heat died down. The Sheriff's first words nearly caused him to fall out of his bed.

"So, how would you boys like to come live with me?"

Stiles wondered if this were some kind of trick. He said nothing, merely gazed back at the older man to see what other lunacy might come out of his mouth.

"Okay, I guess I wasn't expecting you to leap out of bed and jump for joy, but the dead silence is really hurting my self-esteem."

Some rusted mechanism in Stiles' throat decided activate just then, causing him to chuckle dryly while strange muscles in his face pulled his mouth into a smile.

"Well, glad to see you find the whole thing humorous. I came early since I know Mrs. Poole from Social Services will be here today to help decide what to do with you boys. She already mentioned to me that it would be tough finding a home that will take both of you."

"No one's fucking taking me away from my brother." Stiles growled.

"Whoa! Listen son…shit! Sorry, I know you hate that. Listen, no one is going to try and separate you. You would go to a group home until a suitable placement was found, but that could be a while considering your age. Everybody seems to want a baby these days; pure insanity that people can't wait to change diapers and be anchored to a crib 24 hours per day. Give me a kid I could talk to…even if he is a little potty mouthed. My wife and I got licensed when we realized we couldn't have children…then she passed away, and I felt I couldn't possibly do it without her. But now I think I want to try."

Stiles relaxed at hearing they weren't going to take Isaac away. But considering the kinds of kids he was likely to run into at a group home, it might be better to take the Sheriff up on his offer. He had too much going on right now to worry about the consequences of pulling some meat-headed teenager's arm out of its socket.

"Why would you want to take us in?"

The Sheriff looked uncomfortable. "It was after you two left for home. I had dinner and went home to take a nap, but I just couldn't get you kids out of my head…I had this really strong feeling something horrible was going to happen to you. I went back to my office and read a bunch of complaints neighbors made about what they thought might be going on in your house. An ex-deputy of mine always seemed to be the one to go out on those calls. Turns out he was drinking buddies with your old man. Covered up a lot of stuff for him that would have led to your removal a lot earlier. I fired him and then hauled ass over to your place. By the time I got there, the fire-trucks were already hosing down the remains of your house. I thought…I thought…"

Stiles was stunned to see tears well up in the man's eyes. He wiped them and recovered himself.

"I thought I'd failed you just one too many times. I would never be able to live with myself if anything happened to you kids."

"You didn't do anything." Stiles felt something in his chest compress into heavy weight; he wasn't sure what the feeling was and didn't like it.

"That's right. I didn't do…anything." He put his face in his hands. When he recovered, he looked up at Stiles again. "And now I have to ask you in an official police capacity if either you or your brother started that fire. This is a routine question for the records; the fire marshall already ruled out arson. They're chalking it up to faulty wiring.

"No, we didn't start the fire." Stiles said truthfully. He was suddenly glad he didn't have to lie to the Sheriff about this. "It was always burning, since the world's been turning."

The Sheriff looked at him, wide-eyed. "You listen to Billy Joel? Oh kid, you and I are going to get along real well. So, what do you say? Give an old bachelor with a curly fry addiction a chance? I understand we have that addiction in common, too."

Stiles grinned despite himself, covering it with his hand so the Sheriff wouldn't see.

"Do you believe in hitting kids?" he asked. He had to know before he took this chance with Isaac's safety.

The Sheriff's face became so grim that Stiles almost called up his wolf. "Son, you aren't even ready to hear what I would do some asshole who struck a child. Damn! I called you 'son' again."

Stiles took a deep breath and let it out. "It's okay. I don't mind."

"What do you think your brother will say?" The cop glanced over at Isaac who was still deeply asleep.

"You can ask him yourself, but if I say it's okay then he will too."

"He's had it rough, hasn't he? You both have." Seeing the uncomfortable look on Stiles' face, the Sheriff got up and put out his hand for Stiles to shake. Stiles looked at it for a few seconds, the first hand offered to him in friendship instead of anger. He took it gravely and gave it a firm-gripped shake, then turned the other way so he wouldn't have to see the Sheriff leave.

{}{}{}{}

Mrs. Poole did drop by later that day, and arrangements were made for the Sheriff to take custody. Mrs. Poole was one of those overly perky types with a sugar-sweet voice that set Stiles' teeth on edge. Stiles didn't like that she had the power to take Isaac away (even if she had no intention of using it, and Stiles would stop her if she tried) and he somehow got through the experience without unzipping her stomach and playing jump rope with her intestines. The hope of a better future for Isaac and him, _any_ kind of future kept him in check. The big surprise came when the insurance adjuster for the fire came around. Since arson was ruled out and Sam had the home fully insured, Stiles and Isaac were entitled to the benefits which would be held in trust for them until they came of age. It came to a total of…

"_Five hundred thousand dollars?" _Isaac shrieked.

"Plus, the life insurance, which is about the same. Your mother took out the policy. I am very sorry for your loss, by the way…"

The insurance adjuster gaped as Stiles and Isaac jumped out of their beds and shouted with joy.

{}{}{}{}

The Sheriff drove Stiles to his home. Stiles tried not to be nervous about being in the back of a police cruiser given that it (but for a stroke of luck) could have been as a murder suspect rather than a foster kid.

The Sheriff's house was large but modest, and obviously old. A long-neglected dead flower patch sat off to the side and the lawn was overgrown. The house had an aura of sadness, but none of the misery that permeated his own home.

Stiles was shown to his bedroom on the second floor, at the opposite end of the hall from the Sheriff. There was just the one full size bed in the room, a dresser, a computer desk with a new-looking Mac on it. The computer couldn't possibly be his, the Sheriff would probably take it out when Stiles moved in.

"Wow, it even has its own bathroom. Hey, there's just the one bed. What about Isaac?" Stiles asked. Maybe they could ditch the full bed for a bunk bed…

"Isaac will have his own room; I thought you boys might like to have some privacy. C'mon, I'll show you." The room was halfway along the hall. It was not as big as the first bedroom, but it was still bigger than their room at the Lahey residence.

Stiles shook his head. Although he had always longed to have his own room, he wondered if it would be a good idea to sleep away from Isaac. If the Sheriff tried something in the middle of the night, Stiles would definitely hear him, though…

"Stiles? You okay? Sounded like you were growling there for a second."

"What? Oh, nothing. Isaac and I always shared a room, I was just thinking he might not like to be away from me."

The Sheriff shrugged. "If that's the case, we'll work it out. Sleeping arrangements aside, do you like it here?"

The older man looked so anxious to hear Stiles' response that it shamed the boy for his earlier thought. _'This guy really wants us…and not to do anything bad to us. He's as alone as we are.'_

"Thank you for this. I didn't think it would be this nice."

"You're welcome, I think" The Sheriff chuckled.

"I'll help you move your computer if you want. I can help you set it up anywhere you want."

"Huh? Move it? It's yours. We'll get one for Isaac too when he's out. Come on, let's go shopping for some clothes. You'll need them once your suspension is over and you can go back to school."

He left Stiles alone in the room. Everything Isaac owned had been handed down from Stiles, and everything Stiles owned came from consignment shops. It was not that Sam Lahey didn't have money, it was just he didn't see the need to waste it on his kids. The bad clothing was one of the reasons Whittemore loved to pick on them. Now he was going to get new stuff?

It was even more surreal than being a werewolf.

{}{}{}{}

After a day spent buying clothes that even Jackson would be powerless to find fault with, the Sheriff took Stiles out for a steak dinner. Though the meal once again put him on cloud nine, he felt guilty about enjoying it so much without his brother. As if reading his mind, the Sheriff told him:

"Stop worrying about Isaac. Melissa told me that she intends to fatten him up but good on home-cooked food. He is getting a turkey dinner tonight with all the trimmings. She's a great cook; believe me we should be jealous of _him._"

Stiles felt a lot better hearing this.

"She's really nice. Scott's lucky to have her."

"Yeah, they've been doing fine since she dumped that loser husband of hers. What that bastard did to her and Scott-" The Sheriff suddenly looked at Stiles wide-eyed. "Aw, hell I shouldn't have said that. Please don't repeat that to them."

"Don't worry, I promise. No one should have to live with a monster." Another surreal moment…the idea that what happened to the Lahey boys could possibly be happening to other kids too…he wondered how Scott seemed so normal.

The Sheriff looked relieved. "I've known them for years, and I think of them like family."

"Why don't you ask her out then?" Stiles finished off his third Coke of the evening while the Sheriff choked on his.

"What? Me? She'd never have me, I'm not good enough for her. Scott would probably flip out too."

Stiles shook his head. "You don't know what it's like growing up with one parent…or no parent. You feel cheated. It makes you resentful of people who have real families. You even begin to hate people who have it all and have no idea how lucky they are..."

Stiles' glass shattered in his hand.

"Holy shit…waiter! We need some help over here!" the Sheriff called.

Stiles quickly pulled the thick shard of glass that was embedded in his palm out, keeping his fist closed so that it could heal without anyone noticing it. He got up and ran to the rest room, where he rinsed off both the glass and his palm until there was no evidence of blood. The Sheriff came in just as he chucked the fragment into the rubbish bin.

"You all right? Let me see your hand." The Sheriff examined his hand under the harsh fluorescent lighting. "Hmm, you lucked out…I don't even think you got cut. What happened there?"

"Nothing…sorry, must be stronger than I thought."

"I guess so." The Sheriff peered at him. "Taller than I thought you were too. I need to have my eyes checked. The manager is having a heart attack out there; let's go reassure him that he's not going to be arrested.

{}{}{}{}

Stiles lay back on the cool, crisp and above all clean sheets of his new bed with a sigh of contentment.

When they got back home, the Sheriff dropped Stiles off stating he had some last minute paperwork to do before he could call it a night and went back to the station. Stiles walked around and around the room, touching all of the furniture and rubbing his hand along the wall. It occurred to him that this was some bizarre instinctive behavior designed to leave his scent all over the room. After that, he fooled around on the computer for a bit, looking up stuff about werewolves and laughing at how wrong people were about it. The moon was now waning gibbous, and it shone directly into his room through the window. Hard to believe that people thought the change was controlled by the…

Stiles' throat went dry. Looking up at the pale blue-white orb, he felt the wolf in him turn over in eager anticipation. Yeah…he was going to have a problem in a few weeks if this was any indication.

He stripped down to his shorts and hopped into bed, rubbing his body all over the sheets to infuse them with his own scent.

It was hard to believe how much his life had changed in just the past day or two. No more son-of a bitch to torture him, a new home, significant wealth, the possibility of a real family…and an amazing secret power no one else knew about…

He sat bolt upright in bed, even before the tapping came at his window.

He got up and threw the window open to let in the man with the glowing red eyes.

Peter came in and sniffed the room, smirking at the abundance of Stiles-scent everywhere.

"Fortune, it seems, has favored you young man. Isn't it amazing that sometimes the only thing keeping us from having everything we want is the death of a single miserable insignificant insect of a person. Or in my case, family."

"Hello to you too." Stiles said dryly.

"My manners may have burned up in the fire along with my family, my conscience and my senses of compassion and mercy." Peter smiled affably as if these were trivial losses.

"Your sense of humor survived…barely." Stiles threw himself back on his bed.

"I'd like your assistance this evening, if it wouldn't be too much trouble." Peter ran a finger along the top of the Mac's monitor, making a _moue_ of distaste at the dust.

"By 'assistance', you mean…" Stiles had an idea what he meant, but just wanted to hear the guy say it.

"Ripping someone apart into bite-sized pieces…and then helping me eat the pieces."

Stiles felt a shudder run through him that was both excitement and delicious horror. The gods might forgive him the murder of his own father considering what a prick the guy was, but would they look kindly on doing it to some random asshole that he had never even met before?

Peter approached him, and placed his hands on Stiles' bare shoulders, squeezing them gently.

"Second thoughts already? I thought we had a deal." The crimson flashed in his eyes again.

"We did. We do, I mean…and I want to do it…it's a little weird how much I want to do it…it feels like you're asking me to go to Disneyland with you…"

Stiles was breathing rapidly, and he began to shift before Peter's eyes.

Peter smiled at him. "Yes…there's the little bloodthirsty monster I met in the woods. So what are you waiting for? This will bind you into my Pack, it will make you Mine, Stiles. A tie far deeper than that of father and son. You _want _this, don't you? You want to belong to something badly."

"It's just…I need to know the guy has it coming to him…tell me what he did so I can feel what you're feeling."

"What if I just told you that you had no choice?" Peter said coldly.

"I'd do it for you. A deal's a deal. But Peter, this will be so much better for me…please…"

Peter shrugged. "Very well, since you're a nice polite young cub." He pulled the photograph out of his pocket. Once again Stiles looked at the smiling faces…smiling except for the one that was rubbed out.

"The Hale fire consumed my family. It was a member of the Argent clan of Hunters…I don't know which one, though I have a very strong suspicion. That one organized a tidy little conspiracy of arsonists that covered up all evidence of the crime. The one we are going after tonight told this rogue Argent about the same technique I used on your father's house the night we met. Once I deal with the conspirators, I'm going to destroy every single member of the Argent clan, innocent and guilty. A family…for my family."

Stiles thought this over. "Wait. I get it about the Argents, I really do. If they hunt us, then it would be just a matter of time before they came after Isaac and me. But this guy just _told_ people how to set a fire, and you want to kill him? Did he know what they were going to do?"

"What does that matter? He was instrumental in their deaths. He will die, like they all will die, under our teeth, our claws. There is a price to be paid for killing the family of a werewolf! The piper demands his due, and he will be rich indeed when all those who owe are presented with their bill!" Peter was getting angrier and angrier as he spoke, and his eyes were like windows into Hell. "But perhaps you need to hate them as I hate them…and the best way to do that is to let you share in my pain. Enjoy!"

Peter suddenly jabbed his fully extended claws deep into the back of Stiles' neck. In a flood of images that almost overwhelmed his very sanity, he saw the night of the Hale fire as if he were present…he watched people that he never met before and yet loved with his whole heart burning in agony…felt the pain as the flames seared his own flesh. Six years of immobility followed, lived in a few moments, and the pain as his body regenerated itself cell by cell…until finally he was well enough to lure his niece Laura…the Alpha of the family with her father dead…deep into the woods where he took her life without mercy. He needed the power of the Alpha to recruit a Pack to help him in his revenge, and he sacrificed his own soul along with one of his last living family members to do it. He _wanted_ to damn himself with her blood, so that he could find the Argents in the next world and continue their torture for eternity.

Stiles screamed in horror and rage, his whole body vibrating with it, and he struck back at Peter with his own weapons. Stiles' buried _his_ claws deep into Peter's neck, and now it was the older man who was screaming as he lived through the Hell that Stiles had endured…over _ten_ years of almost daily abuse and agonizing pain; ten years of rage and shame and guilt and fear, ten years of smelling his own urine trapped inside a metal box, ten years of being raped by a man who was supposed to love him, ten years of watching that man destroy a brother that he loved more than life…Stiles sent all of the living darkness in his soul, all of his hatred and disgust with the world that failed to care, failed to save him…all into Peter Hale, channeled it like evil lightning into his nervous system, overloading it and causing him to collapse to the floor.

They both ended the connection at the same time, reeling from the onslaught and virtually unable to move, speak or even think as their frantic minds did their best to store the memories away in a deep dark dungeon of the subconscious where it would never see the light of day again. Both werewolves looked at each other, stunned that they each now had _two _lifetimes of misery to suffer through.

Stiles was able to speak first. "I will never be mad at Jackson for jabbing me in the neck with a fucking pencil again."

Peter's tormented gaze rested on him. "I…I'm sorry. I had no idea."

Stiles shrugged. "You and the rest of the fucking world. Well guess what…your plan worked. I'm all in. Let's go take down these bastards. Who did you want to do tonight?"

"Adrian Harris. The chemistry teacher." Peter gasped out.

Stiles started to laugh. "You know, if you'd climbed through my window and said 'Let's go kill Mr. Harris!', I'd have gone right with you. I hate that creep." Stiles continued to laugh, and after a moment or two…Peter joined him. It was pretty funny, after all.

There they sat, two monsters laughing in the darkness.

{}{}{}{}

Adrian Harris looked up at the clock and realized it was almost midnight. He looked down at the mid-term exams, covered in red ink in which he denounced the collection of village idiots who somehow thought their meaningless scribblings and impossible formulae would somehow earn them a passing grade. Harris would discover cold fusion first, or turn lead into gold. McCall's paper was the worst; in that idiot's world, electrons lay inside the nucleus while protons spun blissfully in their concentric orbits…a noble gas happened when a king farted.

Harris couldn't take it any more…he did his best to crumple McCall's paper into a tight little singularity and chucked it straight into the rubbish bin. He wished he could do the same with McCall as well.

Three examinations earned A grades…three top scores out of forty imbecilic children. Two of them were the usual suspects…Lydia Martin and Jackson Whittemore. The two who were his hope for the future. Jackson had taken his exam early due to his Lacrosse schedule…and a good thing too since Jackson would not be taking exams or playing Lacrosse any time soon since that delinquent Lahey kid put him in the hospital…and then proceeded to not only get away with it, but managed to make Harris himself look like a negligent teacher. Lahey was the one who should be put out of commission, not Jackson. In fact, it would have been okay if Stiles just dropped d-

There was a knock on the classroom door. Harris sighed. Probably the janitor, or maybe someone had called the Public Safety rent-a-cops.

The door opened, and in walked the very last person Harris ever wanted to see.

"Lahey! What the hell are you doing here this time of night? And where the hell are your clothes? Oh Holy hell…"

Harris was not even aware he'd been backing up until he hit the wall behind him. Stiles approached him, dirty and barefoot and wearing only a pair of Scooby Doo boxers. That was almost distracting enough to make Harris forget about the fact that Stiles had eyes that glowed with amber fire, sharp claws on the ends of his fingers and toes and a set of fangs that would make Count Dracula dump his drawers. He was more animal than human, and Harris suddenly knew exactly what this was: the day he had dreaded so long it was almost a fact of life…the day when he would pay the price for his part in the tragedy of the Hale fire. He knew the stories about the Hales, had always dismissed it as the nonsensical gossip of a small backwater California town whose one claim to fame was the number of fake werewolf sightings reported to the police. Perhaps not so fake after all.

There were two flashes of hideous pain…his left cheek was flayed off his face and four deep slashes across his stomach opened to release his intestines to slither through his fingers like a nest of wet red snakes.

Harris screamed and bolted for the window while trying to hold his guts in, not even thinking about trying to open it; he was just going to crash through it and hope for escape or a death that would be mercifully quick compared to what this creature would do to him.

But when he turned, he ran straight into yet another person he had no desire to see. Peter Hale caught him easily, and picked him up by his arms. The intestines continued to spool out upon the floor until they hung well below his dangling feet. Peter was stark naked, and like Stiles had traces of dirt and debris on his body, especially the hands and feet as if they had run here on all freaking fours…

"Adrian!" Peter said brightly. "You never liked either of us, did you? I was more of a physics maven when you and I were students here; I remember when you told me in homeroom that that 'those who can't do chemistry can always fall back on physics' and that 'chemistry would save more lives than physics ever could'. Do you remember that?"

"Peter! I know why you're here, I swear I didn't know! I was half-drunk in some bar, and she came in and asked me all these questions! I had no idea who she was, I still don't! I didn't know she would…she would…" Harris ran out of breath. It felt like his body was emptying out completely. Something heavy splatted to the floor. Harris had no desire to know what it was.

"_She?_ I knew it, it was Derek's whore that did this…_I am going to crack her bones in my teeth!_" Hale began to change before Harris' terrified eyes, and he listened to the voice of a nightmare come to life.

"And now for a physics lesson…" it growled. _"Velocity equals distance over time!"_ Peter threw Harris into the wall with agonizing force…Harris broke his neck (along with not a few other bones) and could only lay there, helpless to move or even scream as the two monsters approached him.

"I thought it was acceleration, not distance," the thing that used to be Stiles growled.

"Who gives a fuck?" Peter roared back. The massive paw swung, and Harris's vision took in a brief glance of the room flying by as the Alpha tore his head off and threw it straight at the giant poster of the Periodic Table. It made a huge splotch before dropping neatly into waste basket (right on top of Scott McCall's discarded exam). He thought he heard Stiles say 'Two points' before his magnificent mind shut down. His last thought was one of almost petulant anger.

_'...murdered…by idiots…'_

{}{}{}{}

When the two werewolves lay sated and full among the very few bits and very few pieces of Adrian Harris that were left in the world, Peter dipped a clawed finger in a small pool of the blood and drew a spiral design on a bemused Stiles' bare chest.

"That tickles," he said. Then in surprise: "Holy shit, Peter! Why is it _glowing?_"

"We have killed and we have feasted together. We are Pack, you and I, until one should die."

"Um, okay." Stiles muttered. He smeared the blood around until it stopped glowing.

"This was fun." Peter told him.

"That it was." Stiles yawned. "Now I really have to get me some Z's. I will be a very cranky werewolf if I don't get my beauty sleep."

"How do you feel? Any guilt? Any remorse?" Peter looked interested.

Stiles sneered at him. "For that lab monkey? He died too quickly, if you ask me."

Peter stood up. "I was never one to play with my food. You go on ahead home. I'll take care of this mess. Sleep in…there won't be any school tomorrow."

"I was suspended anyway. Goodnight, Pete."

Stiles took off for home, loping through the dark and sleepy town until he arrived at his new home. The Sheriff's cruiser was not in the driveway, and Stiles breathed a sigh of relief as he leapt up to his second floor window and clambered inside.

He chucked his boxers in the furnace, then took a long hot shower, brushed and flossed away any stray bits of Harris, and was just climbing between the sheets once more when the cruiser pulled back into the driveway.

He wondered if he would even have an appetite for breakfast tomorrow.


	4. Chapter 4

_**A/N – People keep asking about Derek and Sterek, so here they are. Thanks to all of you who reviewed…you are like an author's crack. And I am a total addict.**_

The Sheriff was gone when Stiles woke up. A note on the fridge read 'Police business at your school. Sorry about breakfast, help yourself to whatever's there – Steven.'

Stiles grinned and made himself some cereal, which he ate in the living room watching a rerun of 'Vampire Diaries'. He washed the bowl and put it away (the cleaning habits Sam Lahey ingrained in him would likely never go away) then went outside and mowed the lawn. The sun was shining bright and hot, so he hung his t-shirt on the fence while he mowed, doing a thorough job of it. He worked up a light sweat, but it was obvious that his endurance had multiplied by a factor of ten. Stiles noticed a black Camaro circle the block twice, and it seemed to be going slowly whenever it passed the house. When he was done, he went into the garden and pulled up all the weeds he could find, tilled the soil, replanted it with some old packets of seeds he found in the garage and watered it down with the hose. The lawn already had a sprinkler system installed, but which needed some maintenance before it could run properly. He went back in the house and began cleaning it from top to bottom, vacuuming, washing windows, dusting (and no more allergy to dust!)…all of the old routines firmly in place even though it was a completely different house with a completely different Dad.

Stiles stopped dead and blinked rapidly. Did he think of the Sheriff…Steven, that is…as his father? That was a bit soon…they didn't even really know each other yet…Stiles _couldn't_ allow the man to ever know everything about him…especially now.

'He's a father _figure'_, not your father…no one can ever be your father. Not Sam, not Steven, not even Peter. You don't want one and you don't need one!' he told himself over and over. Then there was Isaac. Stiles knew his brother well enough to know that he would likely bond with Steven if he showed him even a small amount of kindness…the kid was starved for it, could never get enough…hell, he was likely sizing Peter up for the role during their brief conversation. Stiles frowned at that thought. While Stiles could handle Peter and draw that left-handed strength from him, he could only ever offer Isaac pain, intentionally or not. No, best if Isaac saw as little of Peter as possible.

Speaking of which, he really should go visit his little brother in the hospital today.

He took a brief shower and stepped back into his room, catching the scent just a bit too late. Someone was sitting on his bed.

"Why is it that whenever I'm undressed, a werewolf pops into my room?" Stiles asked the leather jacketed teenager. The guy was about an inch taller than Stiles, more muscular, and had jet black hair and piercing blue-green eyes. He was scowling. Stiles got the idea that he did that a lot. He looked vaguely familiar, and in a moment Stiles recognized him. He was an older version of one of the kids in Peter's picture.

The guy smirked at Stiles' remark, and he didn't miss the once-over the guy gave him either. Overriding his first impulse to snatch up his towel, Stiles instead decided to give the guy a show by turning his back to walk to his dresser and grab some fresh clothes. Some Batman boxers and a tie-dye t-shirt later (Stiles picked it since it had a huge multi-color spiral design on it…let him make of it what he would) and Stiles took a seat at his desk.

"You're getting your scent on my bed, too."

No response. Stiles was starting to get pissed off. "This is the part where you get to the point."

"Who Turned you?" was all he asked.

"An Alpha." Stiles shot back. "And that's all you get until you tell me who the hell you are. Oh, and I'll need a good reason not to attack you also. You might want to tell me pretty fast."

"The name's Derek Hale." Derek waited for a reaction, so Stiles gave him the Slow Clap of Appreciation.

"Am I supposed to know that name from somewhere?" he asked slowly as if speaking to someone slow-witted.

"My sister Laura was an Alpha. Someone killed her. I want to know if she Turned you, and if you know anything about her death. Did you kill her?"

"No. I never even met your sister." Shit, why wasn't Peter handling this guy?

Derek was listening intently, probably to hear Stiles' heart rate give away a lie. He relaxed then, and even had the decency to look uncomfortable.

"Sorry for barging in your room. I was driving through the neighborhood when I smelled your scent and checked twice to make sure it was you. I have no other leads and no idea what to do next."

Stiles got up to put on some jeans, suddenly feeling self-conscious. Derek never seemed to blink the entire time he stared at Stiles.

"Do you need help? How are you adjusting?" Derek asked.

"Just fine. No help needed. Why do you care, anyway?" Stiles bit his lip, wondering why he was feeling angry at the guy. He hadn't done anything.

Derek stood up quickly and walked towards the window.

"I don't. Good luck; you'll need it." He was gone.

The engine of the Camaro roared to life, and Stiles listened to it speeding away.

{}{}{}{}

Stiles called Steven and asked him to pick him up at the hospital when he was done with work. The walk to the hospital took about an hour. Isaac definitely looked well-fed and happier than Stiles had ever seen him.

"How's it going, little bro?" Stiles gave him a careful hug.

"It's a little boring. Melissa brought me a bunch of books to read, though. Have you _heard_ of this Harry Potter guy? He's all over the place. The books are epic!"

"Can't say I have." The two brothers looked at each other and for the first time in their lives felt a sense of distance between them, as if they were now in different worlds.

Isaac looked around to see if anyone were in hearing distance.

"There's even a werewolf character! Werewolves suck in these books though, they're all tortured and helpless. If I wanted that I can just think about home. What's it like? Has Peter said anything about Turning me? Think I'll get taller if he does it? Did you guys kill Harris?"

Stiles was suddenly up and covering Isaac's mouth with his hand.

"Shhhh, the Sheriff's coming. Don't talk about ANY of that stuff where he can hear. We can get in big trouble if anyone finds out. Got it?"

Isaac nodded, and Stiles sat down just as the Steven walked in.

"Got done sooner than I expected. How're you boys doing?"

Steven brought out three meatball parmesan subs, and they ate with gusto while talking about inconsequential things. Steven cleared his throat.

"You boys are going to hear about this anyway, but I'd rather be the one to tell you. The chemistry teacher at your high school is dead. I don't want to go into details, but there is a full investigation going on and I'm sure we will catch whoever's responsible. Good thing you boys were going to be missing school for a while anyway…it's closed for the remainder of the week."

"Do you have any leads?" Stiles asked, trying to look disinterested. Isaac's eyes kept flicking back and forth between them.

"Unfortunately, no. In fact, the lack of DNA evidence points to someone who is not only crazy, but a real pro. We don't know if Harris was the intended victim, or if this is a one time thing or the start of a spree. Parents are frantic worrying about their kids."

Stiles snickered. "Wonder what that's like."

Steven looked at him steadily. "You already know. I'm very worried about you guys. So much so that I want to put you in private school. I was never impressed with Beacon Hills High, and this cinches it for me. What would you boys say to that? Or are you very attached to the place?"

Stiles shrugged. "It's all one to me. I can handle it if I stay. Maybe Isaac would do better there. I would feel bad about costing you money though."

"The money doesn't matter; if you feel weird about taking it from me you could always use the money from your insurance settlement to pay for everything, one of the benefits of having it in trust. That's why it's your decision. I think a change would be good for you kids. Look at the good changes that have happened already."

Stiles started to laugh. "Yeah, I've been changing a lot."

That set Isaac off too. The Sheriff looked at the two boys and wondered what the joke could possibly be.

{}{}{}{}

Stiles excused himself and walked down the hall to find a vending machine, he had a mad craving for potato chips that could not be denied. While munching away, he caught a familiar scent and traced it down the hall to an enormous private room where Jackson Whittemore was sitting in bed talking to his adoptive parents.

When the Whittemores caught sight of him, they became furious.

"Stay out of my son's room you little hooligan! I'll call that worthless Sheriff and have him drag you out of here straight to jail where you belong!" Mr. Whittemore's face was blotchy red with anger. Mrs. Whittemore had turned pale white.

"We will be filing a restraining order this very day! Come within 100 feet of our boy, and we will have you-"

"MOM! DAD! Give it a rest!" Jackson suddenly shouted. Then he held his own head in pain for a few moments. "Go on, get out of here and let me talk to him. I told you what happened was my fault, not his. Now go!"

Stiles didn't know whether to be more surprised at Jackson's words or the fact that his parents obeyed him (giving him malevolent glares as they walked by).

Stiles came in, and closed the door at Jackson's request. He looked terrible.

His head was wrapped in bandages, he had two black eyes and a swollen face. His nose was wrapped as well.

Stiles felt uncomfortable. 'Asshole Jackson' was someone he knew how to deal with. The Jackson in front of him looked miserable, and not just because of his injuries.

"You have no reason to accept my apology…but I'm sorry for all the shit I put you through."

Stiles didn't know what to say.

Jackson looked away for a bit, then turned back to him. "You guys were brought in the same night I was. I overheard the doctors talking about what they found when they examined your brother. They thought I was unconscious. They talked about what Isaac told them you guys went through, and for how long. I thought about how all I ever did was add to all the crap you guys had to deal with…and I never felt so disgusted with myself. I d-don't…I don't have any explanation…I don't know why I did it or what's wrong with me…"

Tears began to leak down Jackson's battered face. "I'm just a p-piece of sh-shit…I'm worthless, I'm…"

"Jackson! Get a grip! We're just freaking kids, we do stupid shit like this! You didn't know! I…I…over-reacted…" he finished lamely.

"No…I deserved this. You did me a favor you know. I needed to see what I was…I could have done this to the wrong kid and gotten shot or something…"

'_Or disemboweled,'_ Stiles thought. Jackson had missed that fate by only one day. In a way, he really was lucky.

"…so, I mean…are we cool? Can we be friends?" Jackson looked as if his entire existence hinged upon Stiles' answer.

"Um, yeah man, we're cool. And…" Stiles struggled with himself to say the words, and to make himself _mean it_ when he said it. "…I'm sorry too."

Jackson lost it then, and was literally sobbing there in his bed. The Whittemores rushed back in, and it was obvious that they had listened to the entire conversation.

"That's enough, please leave now!" Mrs. Whittemore hissed at him. Stiles backed up, right into Steven who had come looking for him.

"They gave Isaac some meds and he's out. We should go."

{}{}{}{}

The car ride home was quiet while Stiles turned over his encounter with Jackson in his mind. He had wished Jackson dead for so long that he felt a vital piece of who he was had vanished along with the wish. A simple fucking apology, and suddenly you didn't want to kill somebody anymore. Had Jackson died, as he very well could have, that chance for them to bury the hatchet would have been gone forever; the hatred would have become immortal. Everything Jackson might have gone on to do would be gone forever…any kids he might have had, and their kids…the true impact one has on the world when you commit a murder became clear to him for the first time.

Then he thought about his father, and Harris (the miserable fucks) and restabilized. There _were_ some people that needed to die. He would just be more careful about deciding who those people should be.

Steven cleared his throat, interrupting the train of his thoughts. "That was great what you did in there. Jackson has a lot of problems…all the problems you can have with rich parents who dote on you…and I think you might have literally knocked some sense into him. Not that you should make a habit of hitting people with chairs, mind you."

"I promise I'll never hit anyone with a chair again." Stiles said truthfully.

Steven smiled. "Good to hear, son."

{}{}{}{}

Steven almost drove past their house; he had been so used to seeing the overgrown lawn that he didn't recognize the place without it.

"Stiles, you didn't have to do this!" Steven parked the car and looked around at the perfect lawn and garden. He went from stunned to downright alarmed when they got inside. "Stiles, I appreciate your effort, but people will think I took you in for slave labor!"

Stiles shrugged. "It was nothing, I did this all the time at home. It was either that or get locked in the meat freezer."

The Sheriff leaned down and took Stiles by the shoulders, looking right into his eyes. "You do know that would never happen here, right?"

"Yes, of course! I did it because I wanted to, not because I had to."

Steven looked hard at him to make sure he meant it, then pulled a surprised Stiles into tight hug.

"Well, thank you. But I mean what I say…I want you to have the chance to be a lazy good-for-nothing teenager."

"Did those words really just come out of your mouth?" Stiles laughed.

"Yes. And I want you to take them to heart. I don't mind kids having a few chores, and we can work out a schedule if you really want to help…but wow, I if I had ten like you I could hire you out as a cleaning service and retire."

They went out to eat again, and Stiles realized that this was the Sheriff's life…a demanding job, an empty house and an unending line of take-out. While Stiles thought it would be paradise compared to his life with Sam, he could see that the Sheriff was deeply unhappy and alone. He resolved to do some total parent trap bullshit with Scott to see if maybe they couldn't get the two adults together.

Steven refused to talk anymore about the Harris murder case, saying it was too morbid for a teenager to have to deal with. They ate in silence until Steven gave him a badly wrapped box over dessert (Stiles always got a slice of apple pie, about the only dessert food he could stand). When he pulled open the box, his jaw dropped.

"Steve, an iPhone 5? I don't know what to say." He was stunned at the gift.

"It's more for my peace of mind. I want to always be able to reach you. This means answering it whenever I call, no excuses. You get 450 minutes per month and unlimited texting. The guy said something about a '4 gig data plan' which I don't even know what that is. Just don't go over your minutes and I'll be happy."

Stiles snickered. "That should be pretty easy. I have no friends."

"What about Jackson?" Steven asked pointedly.

"Oh…well, I don't know…who knows if he meant that, or…" Stiles stopped. He knew very well Jackson meant it. There was no skip in his heartbeat.

"That's one of the things that I wanted to talk to you about. I don't know if you've accepted that things are different for you and your brother. You're so used to things being horrible that you don't recognize when they aren't."

"I see what you mean…but believe me I _do_ know that some things are different." He looked down at the hand that had ripped open Harris' guts. "I'm different too." Stiles sighed. "I don't have a problem making up with Jackson. It's the _world_ I'm mad at…it just took so much from me that it can never give back enough for me to forgive it, if it even cares. And that scares me. I don't want to hate everything forever."

"You won't." Steven said confidently. "You're too good a kid."

Stiles decided to keep his mouth shut for the rest of the night.

{}{}{}{}

Stiles went to bed early, struggling to sort things out in his mind. He woke up at about 2:30 am and decided to go for a run to the park and work off some energy. Climbing out his window, he dropped to the ground and took off, running normally before giving in and dropping to all fours. He reached the park in no time at all, walking over to the swings and dropping into one while panting lightly. God, it was so much fun being like this…he never wanted to give it up. He took in the clear night sky with its thousands of stars, each one reflected in his own dimly glowing eyes, and thought for the first time ever that he was the luckiest person on earth. Maybe this was enough…maybe he could forgive the world. After all, no one had the power to ever hurt him again.

Stiles sniffed the air.

"Hey, Derek," he called loudly.

Sapphire blue lights hovered over a patch of darkness that resolved itself into the figure of a leather-jacketed teen.

Derek walked over and took the swing next to Stiles.

"I'm not stalking you. I had no idea you were here. I come here to think sometimes. I loved this place when I was a kid."

"Yeah, me too. It was like a safe zone for me…my Dad couldn't do anything to me here, in front of all the other families. But when we got home…"

"I did some checking. You had a fucked life. Did you kill your father?"

"Wow, could we get through one conversation without you asking me if I killed somebody? Well, this time the answer's yes. He was about to rape my brother the way he did me for years. He had it coming. If that bothers you, then fuck off."

Stiles thought Derek would storm off as he did earlier, but he continued to sit there quietly swinging.

"It doesn't bother me. You did the right thing. My family taught me that we live by different rules than humans. When someone hurts your family, they die. End of discussion."

"Even if the person that did it is a _member_ of your family?" Stiles asked quietly.

Derek looked at him sharply, and he actually growled. "What the hell do you mean-…oh, right. Your Dad. Sorry, I thought you meant what happened to my sister. None of my relatives would have hurt Laura."

Stiles said nothing. Derek scuffed his leather shoes in the dirt looking up at the sky much as Stiles had done.

"Look, let's not talk about this stuff. I'm glad I saw you because I wanted to apologize again for coming into your room uninvited." He chuckled. "It's actually very much against our rules. Territory and all that. You even scented the place. It looks like you're picking up a lot of stuff through instinct, like you're a natural at this. I've seen humans Turned who've gone crazy and even killed themselves or other people…even ones that they cared about. I meant what I said earlier…if you need any help getting a handle on this, just ask me."

"I'll do that. Thanks. I didn't mean to be rude earlier, I was just freaked that there was a strange guy in my room while I was standing there in the buff."

"You've got nothing to be ashamed of." Derek said, suddenly becoming interested in something in the opposite direction from Stiles.

"I knew you were checking me out." Stiles couldn't decide how he felt about this.

"You didn't give me much choice. But I didn't mind." Now he was looking back at Stiles with a small…wait, was that a real smile on his face?

They swung for a bit in silence.

Then: "Listen, I don't know if I'm even –"

"Don't. Don't say the words humans use to divide and conquer each other…they have no place in our world. You like who you like and you love who you love, and that doesn't define anything else about you. Don't categorize it, just be happy when it happens. When I was 11, I liked this girl who was 17. My family didn't like her. They would have liked you a lot better."

"Do you like me?"

"I could."

"Oh, man. Dude, I don't know if I'm anywhere near ready for something like that…I'm so fucked up, and I'm only just beginning to realize how much."

"Same here. I lost my family six years ago in a fire…you probably heard about it. No one knows who did it; it was made to look like an accident. The only family I had left were my sister and my uncle. Now my sister's dead, and my uncle Peter has been in a long-term care facility because the burns were too much for even a werewolf's system to heal. He's catatonic. I literally have…no one."

Derek gripped the chains of the swing, managing to warp some of the links before dropping his hands into his lap.

Stiles reached over and put his hand over Derek's.

"I don't know how you dealt with it. I don't know what I'd do if something happened to my brother."

"I hope you never have to find out." Derek stood up. "I should get going."

"Uh, hey….could I have your phone number?" Stiles asked artlessly.

Derek laughed. "Uh, sure you can." Stiles programmed the number Derek recited into his new phone. It was the fourth one there, but the first Stiles put in. Sheriff home, Sheriff cell, Sheriff house…and Derek. Stiles sent him a text so that Derek would have his number too.

They looked at each other for a minute, Derek standing and Stiles still on his swing…before Derek turned and vanished into the woods. He looked back once, his eyes glowing sapphire blue as he shifted.

Stiles waited about ten minutes, then took off back to his new home.

For a change, Steven was home and awake in the morning. Stiles woke up to the smell of sizzling bacon, frying eggs, hot pancakes and the glorious aroma of coffee. He threw on his t-shirt from the night before and raced downstairs, immediately taking a seat in front of a steaming mug and a pile of hot food. Steven looked surprised.

"Was just going to call you. Perfect timing, dig in…" he gaped as Stiles did just that, attacking the food as if he hadn't eaten in weeks. "Damn, I had a dog that used to eat like that…"

Stiles gave him a sour glare and a low growl. "This here's food aggression. Get used to it."

"I'll keep my fingers away from your plate then. I kind of like having a complete set." Steven got his own breakfast and ate at a leisurely pace while he read the morning paper.

Stiles' phone beeped from its charger on the kitchen counter.

"That must be one of your non-existent friends, Stiles." Steven said without even looking up from his paper.

Stiles grabbed the phone, excited that Derek was contacting him so soon, but his grin faded when he saw that it wasn't him.

The number was private, and the text read: _'Need a study buddy for tonite. U free homey? - P'_

This was Peter trying to sound like a teenager. Groan.

'_Yeah, free here. What time…homey?'_

After a minute a reply came back. _'The usual.'_

'_Ok, meet me at the park.'_ Stiles shut the phone down. The texts were harmless, but he didn't want to answer any of the Sheriff's questions.

"Who was that?"

"Friend from school. I texted him my number when you gave me the phone."

Steven nodded and turned a page. "Well, don't feel the need to keep me company. I'm working till the wee hours anyway and I'd feel better knowing you were out having fun than moping around here. Just don't stay out too late."

"Will do."

{}{}{}{}

The Sheriff was already gone when Stiles got out of the shower. He jogged over to the park; a different world in the daylight now with dozens of families and kids crawling over the play equipment. He looked at the swings with a slight stab of jealousy; they were occupied by a laughing boy and girl with dark hair and eyes.

"Michael! Ava! Don't swing too high!" their mother called to them. The children paid her no mind. Stiles grinned, envying them their perfect childhood without malice. Good for them. At least some parents got it right. Stiles heard crying and swung his gaze over to where an overly dressed (for the park) little boy was crying. He had fallen and torn out the knees of his dress pants. His father was apoplectic, shouting about how he always ruined his good clothes and how expensive they were. The father walloped the kid good, and not a few of the other parents shouted at him in disgust. The boy was in hysterics now, terrified out of his mind. No one was _doing_ anything!

Stiles growled, and in three seconds he had reached the father and pushed him savagely with inhuman strength. He flew backward and landed on his ass about ten feet away.

"What the hell are you doing?" he shouted. When he got a good look at Stiles' face he started backing up. Stiles was keeping the wolf in the box, but he could do nothing about the rage stamped all over his features. Parents began anxiously gathering their children, some were even pulling them towards the exit to the park.

"Touch that kid again…ever…and I will take you apart. Don't fucking doubt I could do it. Fucking _pants_ are more important than your son, you asshole? He loves you now, but keep it up and maybe your kid will grow up hating his father's guts like I did mine. Maybe he'll even do something about it. You better hope for your sake that doesn't happen." Stiles hawked back and spit at the jerk. He turned and stalked away when he felt a small rock hit him in the back. He turned to see the boy lob another one at him. Stiles snatched it out of the air.

"Leave my Daddy alone, monster! You go away!" The kid was red-faced and defiant, all his tears gone.

Stiles looked back at the dad. _**"You don't deserve him!"**_ he shouted. Then he took off running. His own tears stayed inside his head, and burned him like acid.

Stiles ran without knowing where he was going until he finally stopped, panting heavily and looked around. He was in the Beacon Hills preserve. Though he cut through here on occasion to get someplace else, he didn't think he'd ever been in this deep before. He followed the path for a while until he came to a clearing he had never seen. A clearing with a huge old wreck of a burned house in the middle of it.

He knew what house this was.

The knot of fury in his chest twisted tighter, and he didn't even know who it was for. He just screamed, hoping for it to break loose and let go. It didn't, it just got even tighter. The wolf burst from him, all teeth and claws and glowing eyes. There was no prey in sight, so he picked up a rock in his clawed hand and threw it at the house. Glass shattered, wood splintered. He threw another rock, and another. Then someone came out of the house, and Stiles couldn't see who it was because his eyes were squeezed shut but he heard him and he smelled him…and in a moment felt him as strong arms wrapped around him tightly. Stiles fought savagely, trying to use teeth and claws to rip and tear…but the arms remained wrapped tight and the weight of the stranger toppled him over and crushed him into the earth.

"_Leave me alone! __**LEAVE ME ALONE!**__"_ he shouted, maybe to the stranger, maybe to his father, maybe to the world. But for all his new power, he could not break free and after a length of time that had no name he stopped his struggling and just lay there wishing for everything to go away. After another time, it did.

{}{}{}{}

Stiles woke up for the second time that day to smell food cooking, this time it was hamburgers on a charcoal barbecue.

He looked over at Derek who was tending to the food, dressed in what used to be a Henley t-shirt but which was now a bloody rag that was more hole than shirt. His jeans were similarly destroyed.

"So, was that your first jump off the Diving Board of Sanity?" Derek asked without humor. "I remember _my_ first."

"No, not my first, though I think somebody forgot to put water in the pool this time."

Derek chuckled. He flipped two of the burgers expertly onto some buns and handed the plate to Stiles who devoured them with relish. Derek did likewise with his own.

When they were done, they sat there quietly watching the smoke drift upward into the black sky.

"Derek…could you sit next to me please?" Stiles couldn't look at him while he asked. Derek complied, their shoulders the only parts of their bodies touching.

"Want to talk about it? It's okay if you don't."

Stiles did talk, telling Derek about the whole scene in the park. Derek listened, and did not interrupt until Stiles wound down. He thought for a few minutes before he spoke.

"The dad sounds like a real piece of work. Maybe you got through to him, though. Maybe he'll let up on his kid."

"What kills me is that the kid still loved his Dad. I would have been so happy if someone stuck up for me, but this kid hated me for trying to protect him. Derek…I don't understand why, and I really need to."

"Do you remember any good times with your father? Any at all?" Derek asked. Stiles searched his memory, and could not come up with anything. He just shook his head.

"I bet that kid does. I bet the Dad is only an asshole sometimes…look at the way he dressed the kid. You don't buy a kid expensive clothes if you have no feelings for them whatsoever. When there's some good…even a little…it's easy to love your parents. You forgive them their faults and overlook the times they hurt you. You feel guilt for ever being mad at them. But it sounds to me like there was no good at all in Sam. He wasn't your father, he was your jailor…your torturer. That's why you hated him with everything you had."

This could very well be true, but Stiles would have to think long and hard about this to be sure it was the answer.

Derek put his arm around Stiles' shoulder.

Stiles sighed in mock disgust. "Typical guy, taking advantage of an emotionally vulnerable moment to try and get to second base."

"Guilty as charged." Derek admitted. Then, "Is it working?"

"Shut the fuck up and kiss me."

The fire burned out and there was darkness, but for the first time ever the darkness was only on the outside.

{}{}{}{}

Derek drove him home, and Stiles watched him go and felt a hook in his chest. These were very new feelings, and he didn't know what to do with them. Everything was so damned complicated now. Instead of going inside, he jogged back to the park and rejoiced that it had transformed back into its lonely twilight incarnation. The witching hour arrived and Peter Hale arrived precisely on time.

Stiles looked up at him and grinned. "How the hell did you get my phone number? I just got the damned thing today."

Peter smirked. "I know you did. Who did you think sold the Sheriff the 4 gig data plan?"

Stiles chuckled long and hard. "Well, thank god you're here. I _really_ need to kill something."

Peter smiled. "Right this way."


	5. Chapter 5

_**A/N – Buckle your seat belts, there's carnage, fluff and fun all around, but the chapter ends pretty dark. Re-read the summary for an idea. Was a little shaky writing the end. **_

Peter handed Stiles a torn black hat and a sweatshirt jacket that might once have been green or blue, but it was hard to tell.

"Eugh, gross. I can already tell you I won't be eating these guys." Stiles sniffed at the clothes, completely revolted.

"Unger and Reddick. Two of the three arsonists who burned my home. And no, we won't be eating them…tonight they will learn what it means to play with fire. They are about five miles through the woods. They have fallen on hard times since they spent the money they were paid by the Argents. I was able to locate them through a tapped phone line; they contacted the ringleader to ask for more money and even stated where they could be found. I am afraid that they will be receiving a different form of payment."

"Let's go then!"

Peter ruffled Stiles' hair in an almost fatherly fashion. "Ah, I love an eager young cub. It means so much to me to have you on board with this. I don't think children are in the cards for me, but if I had a son…" Peter left the sentence unfinished. Any thoughts relating to family were painful to him, and would be so until his vengeance was complete.

They took off through the woods, and in about twenty minutes they covered the five miles to where their prey sat around a drum fire toasting hot dogs on sticks. They were shivering with cold and passing a bottle of whiskey back and forth. Unger was short and twitchy with pale skin, while Reddick was a taller well-built black man with a self-confident aura around him…obviously the brains _and_ brawn of the outfit. Neither noticed the dimly glowing eyes that watched them from the shelter of the trees.

"Peter," Stiles whispered. "Let's have some fun with them.

"What did you have in mind?" Peter murmured back.

Stiles whispered to him for a few seconds, and Peter chuckled.

"Very well, go on then." Peter gave Stiles a wad of cash from his wallet which Stiles pocketed.

Stiles walked into the small clearing. Unger looked startled, while Reddick got a shifty look on his face.

"Well, well, well, what have we here?" Reddick motioned Stiles over to the fire.

"Hey, have you guys seen my dog? I think he might have run through here." Stiles pretended to be scanning the woods.

"Maybe we seen 'em, maybe we haven't. Some scratch might help us remember, ain't that right Unger?"

"Yeah, that's right Red. We need some scratch." Unger nodded and grinned like an idiot.

"Scratch? You want scratch?" Stiles asked, grinning. "I think I can manage that. I've got _lots_ of scratch." He pulled Peter's cash out of his pocket. Even Stiles was startled to see that it was mostly hundreds, about twenty of them. "How much do you need to tell me if you saw my dog? Ten dollars? Twenty? Hmmm?"

The two men were glassy-eyed at the sight of all of that cash.

Reddick stepped over and grabbed the whole wad out of Stiles' hands. With the other hand, he shoved Stiles hard enough to knock him off his feet.

"Hey!" Stiles shouted in mock outrage as he sat up in the dirt.

"Hey, nothing. Get lost kid before we put _you_ on a stick and roast you on this here fire." Reddick was already counting the money.

Stiles scuffed his foot in the dirt, pouting. "Well, at least tell me if you saw him! He's worth more than that measly pocket change anyway!"

Reddick looked at him with curiosity. "Yeah? What's so special about this dog?"

Stiles' face went from scared and helpless to dead serious. "Glad you asked. He's very, very big…and very, very mean. See, years ago he survived a fire, and since then he doesn't like people much. I'm about the only person he won't attack. Other people…especially people who like to play with fire…well, my dog doesn't like them very much. Not very much at all."

A loud reverberating growl sounded throughout the clearing. Reddick actually dropped the cash while Unger almost jumped out of his skin.

"Holy shit! What was that?" Unger shouted.

"That's my dog! Here, Peter! Come here boy!" Stiles called happily.

Twin crimson flames flared in the darkness outside the circle of the fire's light. Peter stepped into the clearing on all fours, completely shifted into the Alpha form.

"Jesus H. Christ…that's no damn dog…what in Holy Hell is that thing?" Reddick's voice was no more than a whisper.

"That, my friends, is Karma." Stiles told them, grinning while he picked himself back up.

Unger turned and tried to flee, but in one bound Peter had him down and was ripping his back open to reveal the shiny white spinal column. A clawed hand wrapped around it and pulled it from the body in a spray of blood. Reddick turned on his heel and came face to face with a fully shifted Stiles.

"Don't forget your _scratch!"_ Stiles roared, plunging his claws into Reddick's stomach and ripping upward. Now it was Stiles who shoved Reddick onto his back, where he straddled the prone man and raked his claws across his face and chest until they grated on bone, roaring as the firelight reflected off amber eyes and glistening white fangs.

{}{}{}{}

When the bodies were pulled to pieces and burned in the drum and dirt kicked over all the bloody evidence of the grisly murders, Stiles leaned back against a nearby tree looking exquisitely at peace.

Peter shifted back to human, which left him naked. He stepped into the woods and returned with, of all things, a packet of wet wipes. He fussily cleaned himself, tossing the used wipes into the drum fire. Stiles stripped down to his boxers and began doing likewise, lamenting over the loss of new clothes which also had to be burned. When they were done, Peter got dressed (having discarded his outfit before shifting) and stuck the unused wipes into his coat pocket.

"Do you want my coat?" Peter offered. Stiles shook his head. He was strangely reluctant to have another werewolf's scent on him…a werewolf who wasn't Derek, anyway.

"At full speed no one can see anything, and besides it's late. They pull in the sidewalks at night in this town. Hey, don't forget your cash." Stiles pointed at the discarded bills.

"Keep it. That show you put on was priceless. I'll even forgive you referring to me as your dog."

Stiles laughed. "Thanks. Pete, did you see the looks on their faces when you showed up? I almost couldn't shift, it was so goddamn funny."

Peter chuckled too. "You have a career in improv theatre, if all else fails. Very well, then. I guess this is goodnight."

"Pete, how many more are there?" Stiles asked.

Peter thought for a moment. "Another 'firefly' who now works at a video store, then the insurance adjuster, and then the Argents themselves. Mother, father, daughter…and the one who started it all. Possibly the most dangerous, since she doesn't follow whatever pathetic creed they hunt us by.

"What will you do then?"

Peter shrugged. "I owe my nephew a blood debt, one that I have every intention of paying. Life…is no longer something that interests me. It's only offered me pain, and I have had my fill."

"I met him, you know. He questioned me about Laura."

Peter met Stiles' gaze. "Did he?"

"Yeah. I didn't tell him anything, but it's gonna be hard to keep it from him. I think he'll be pretty pissed when he finds out."

Peter was silent. Then: "Nothing must stand in the way of my vengeance, Stiles. Not even my nephew. Laura's sacrifice will mean nothing unless it comes to pass. Derek must not find out until the right time."

Stiles swallowed noisily. "I, uh…think I might be…"

"I understand." Peter turned away from Stiles, his thoughts un-guessable.

"Peter, you helped me and I mean to help you. My first loyalty will always be to you. If Derek can't get over that…"

"I doubt he will. This is the first time you have ever felt for someone, isn't it? You would sacrifice the possibility of that future for me?"

"Without you, I wouldn't have had a future. You don't think Derek would help you? I mean, if you explained everything?"

Peter shook his head. "Kinslaying is the most reviled crime among werewolves. Derek would be obligated to try and kill me. Even though _he_ led the whore huntress back to our lair, he did so unwittingly. Mine is the greater crime."

Stiles knew Derek would never be able to take Peter on and live. To keep him alive and safe, the secret would have to be kept from him. Stiles would have to hope Derek could look at him without disgust afterward.

Stiles left him there to do 'cleanup' and raced back home, keeping to the shadows until he got to his window, leaping up and through it flawlessly. He showered and went to bed and hoped that Peter's revenge could be carried out quickly before things with Derek got too heavy.

{}{}{}{}

Steven woke him up with excellent news the next morning. Isaac was being released from the hospital though he would be on bed-rest for two weeks. Stiles was beside himself with excitement, and the whole way to the hospital was bouncing up and down in his seat. They stopped at an electronics store and purchased a Playstation and a few games so that Isaac wouldn't be bored out of his mind having to stay home. When they got there, Steven helped Isaac get ready while Stiles took a short detour down the hall to see if Jackson were still there…but the room was empty. Stiles felt a stab of guilt that he hadn't been back since their last talk…but he definitely had a lot going on right now.

Isaac was thrilled at getting his own room, and they did some shopping so that he could personalize it with his own posters and bedding, etc. as well as a fair amount of clothes. Stiles was a bit surprised that Isaac didn't insist they share a room, but tried not to take it personally. He was a growing boy, and had a right to his privacy.

When they got home, the connected the console to the television and played Batman, God of War, Assassin's Creed, Infamous and Skyrim. Isaac didn't move from the couch all day, lost as he was in a series of video game worlds…but for Stiles the allure of Assassin's Creed paled in comparison to his nighttime activities with Peter. Isaac questioned him intently about those when the Sheriff was out of earshot, but Stiles told him the less he knew the better, at least until it was all over and Isaac was able to join the club.

Isaac got quiet then, and Stiles became alarmed when his little brother's scent gave away that he was very angry.

"Isaac? What's the matter? Did I do something?"

Isaac glared at him. "I don't like that I can't share this with you, Stiles. You get to be this super-powered badass, and I get to stay in the hospital or here on this couch because I can't heal the way you do! I want Peter to Turn me, and I want it now!" Isaac was red-faced and breathing fast.

"Bro, this gift wasn't _free_…I'm paying for it by helping Peter wipe out some pretty dangerous enemies. Not just for me, but for you too! When Peter bites you…and he will, he promised...we'll be free to do whatever we want! I can't _wait_ to show you how much fun it is! I'm more impatient than you are! I thought we might leave town together when I turn 18…"

"Why would we want to do that? Steve likes us; he wants us to stay with him!"

"I know, and I like him too. And…I have other reasons to want to stay now, too."

Isaac's eyes were round. "What other reasons? Bro, did you _meet_ somebody?"

Stiles sighed. "Yeah. I don't know if it will go anywhere, and there's some good reasons it won't…but if it does…"

"Who is she? Not that Lydia chick that goes out with Jacks-off? Or that new brunette Scott's lost his mind over, Allison Argent? He spent three hours telling me about her freaking _hair_, for crying out loud. I had to buzz the nurse for meds to knock me out."

"No, actually it's…wait a minute…did you say Allison _Argent_? Oh, shit…that's fucked up." Stiles threw himself into the Sheriff's recliner and put his face in his hands.

"What?"

"The Argent family is on Peter's hit list. They're the ones that burned down his house."

Isaac whistled. "Scott's annoying, but I'd hate to see him go to pieces after that shit goes down. And he will, big time. Besides, Allison seems really nice, she even came to visit me with him one night. Any chance Peter will let her off the hook?"

Stiles shook his head. "I doubt it. Peter killed his own niece so that he could become an Alpha. He's not going to spare some chick he's never met just 'because'."

Isaac looked uncomfortable. "Stiles, killing scumbags that fuck up your life is one thing…hurting people who never did anything to you is another. Are you sure this is…what you want to be doing?"

"Isaac…I can't explain how, but I lived through what happened to Peter and what he went through for six years. He lost innocent people in his family too…the bitch who did this didn't care about _them_."

"Allison would have been 10 or 11, bro. I feel bad for Peter's family…but this doesn't make it right."

"Even if Peter just killed the one who did it, I'm sure her family would want payback…even Allison. I think…this is the only way it could end…could be over and done with."

Isaac had no answer. It was clear that his enthusiasm over becoming a werewolf had deflated a bit. After a few moments, he picked up his controller again and began electrocuting video game victims with reckless abandon. Not all of them were bad guys. Stiles watched Cole MacGrath's Karma meter turn from blue to red, and felt a chill.

{}{}{}{}

They took out the worker at Video 2*C two nights later. Stiles had no interest in 'playing with the food' this time. Peter snapped the guy's neck while Stiles yanked out his still-beating heart. The poor sucker didn't even see them coming. When they fled the scene after disposing of the remains, Peter took Stiles back to his lair which seemed to be some abandoned chemical plant. Learning from experience, Stiles wore crappy disposable clothes so that the Sheriff (who did the laundry) wouldn't question where all of his new purchases were disappearing to. He brought along a spare outfit and some toiletries bought with Peter's money. After they showered off the blood, Stiles made to take his leave when Peter stopped him.

"Stiles? You were awfully quiet tonight. You didn't seem to enjoy this kill at all. Anything wrong?"

Stiles debated just telling him 'no', but then remembered he could hear a lie. "You're going to kill Allison Argent."

"Of course," Peter said simply. "Do you have an objection to that? You know what her family did to mine."

"Of course I know…I lived it, remember? She didn't have anything to do with it…she was just a kid at the time."

"So were Edgar and Anna, adopted twin toddlers. My nephew Roger's wife Janet was _pregnant_ when she burned. She and the children were _human_, Stiles. This revenge has nothing to do with _Allison_, it has to do with Kate. She took away my family, so I am going to take away _hers_. When she has suffered as I have suffered, then and only then will I kill her. She _must_ lose everything first, or the true gravity of what she did would be lost on her. Do you understand?"

Stiles nodded. He did understand. If he were Peter, he could see himself doing exactly the same thing.

"So, may I continue to count on your help?" Peter's eyes flashed red.

Stiles took a deep breath. "Yes."

{}{}{}{}

The school was re-opened the following Monday, and as Stiles' suspension period had passed, he had to return though he listened not at all to any of the lectures in his classes. Mr. Harris had been replaced with a younger guy named Simmons who was so enthusiastic and energetic that some of the kids actually enjoyed the class. Stiles wondered if Harris had been that way once. He wound up paired with Allison after they picked names out of a hat, while Scott seethed next to Danny. Allison gave him a friendly smile and (seeing he was out of sorts) quietly did most of the work. She did not complain, and Stiles wound up getting full credit. The sense of weight in his chest increased steadily the whole day.

Jackson was back, and paired up with Lydia. He looked completely recovered except for the somewhat haunted look in his eyes. He glanced at Stiles more than a few times. After class, Scott swooped in like a vulture and carried Allison off to lunch. Lydia walked out in a huff; Jackson had barely said a word to her the whole class. Stiles was just throwing his books into his locker when Jackson sidled up to him.

"Hey, I wanted to know if you'd like to come over today, watch the game or something."

"Not today, Jackson." Stiles slammed his locker door and started down the hall to the exit.

"Do you still hate me?" Jackson called. A few kids looked askance in his direction.

Stiles sighed, and walked back to him. "No…I really don't. I did, but now I don't. I just…have a lot of things going on right now."

"I'm here if you want to talk about anything." Jackson told him.

"Wow, you're really serious, aren't you?" Stiles smirked, his mood lightening up a little.

"Yeah. I…don't want to be hated, Stiles. I don't want to be alone either."

"You? ALONE? When the hell were you ever alone?" Stiles wanted to laugh, but didn't quite dare. The blond boy looked pretty fragile.

Jackson didn't answer. Whatever demons he had, he wasn't ready to share them just yet.

"Well, let's hang out sometime. Let's exchange numbers."

They did so, and Stiles marveled at how full his phonebook was getting. Three people, plus Peter though Stiles didn't have the Alpha's cell # yet (and maybe never would).

Jackson turned away and shuffled down the hall. Stiles noticed he completely ignored his old cronies when they called out to him (with the exception of Danny) leaving them with puzzled looks on their faces.

"Jackson!" he called. Jackson turned around fast enough to risk whiplash.

"Yeah?"

"Want to go get pizza?"

Jackson's face broke into a grin.

The ride in the Porsche was the single greatest thing that ever happened to him barring only his emancipation from the personal hell of Sam Lahey. They arrived at 'Reilly's Real Irish Pizza' (whatever that was supposed to mean) and got a booth to themselves in the back after ordering a 'Mess o' Meats' special pizza and a huge pitcher of Coke.

Stiles devoured his with relish and watched Jackson do likewise…it was kind of funny; Stiles had only ever seen Jackson drink bottled water and eat tiny salads.

"Not worried about gaining five lousy pounds?" Stiles asked.

Jackson snorted. "Fuck that. I'm through being anorexic just to keep up appearances."

"Good for you man. The sad thing is I could probably eat this whole pizza and it wouldn't matter. Sam starved us for years; I don't think I have a single fat cell."

Jackson looked at him. "You know I was adopted, right?"

Stiles shrugged. "Yeah, so what?"

"Well, up until I found out about what was really going on with you, I always imagined that either I wasn't good enough for my birth parents…or that maybe they would be better than the ones I have now…would have loved me more."

"Probably most kids who are adopted think that sometimes."

"Now I wonder if maybe they were horrible…maybe I was the luckiest kid ever to get away from them and get placed with my folks. They never once treated me like I was anything less than their own son…a kid they always wanted."

"Maybe your birth parents were horrible, or maybe they just couldn't hack being parents." Stiles told him. "It doesn't matter in the long run. You're going to be 18 soon…time to stop worrying about the past and parents and start worrying about your own future and your own kids…if you want any."

"I do. I want lots of them. A fucking brood. I wanna be driven crazy by screaming babies and shitty diapers."

Stiles choked on his soda at the image, and burst out laughing. Jackson joined him.

"Lydia would never go for that, bro." Stiles' imagination was not equal to the task of picturing Lydia changing a diaper.

"Lydia's not going to be the mother. We're kind of through."

"Oh." Stiles' laughter died down. "Any new prospects?"

"Nah. Maybe. Gotta find myself first. I know that sounds lame, but it's true. Maybe I'll even adopt."

"Jacks? I'm really glad for this. I never imagined us being friends…but this is awesome." Stiles belched hugely.

"That was touching," Jackson told him seriously. "I can see you're a very sensitive, highly evolved soul. I'll bet you've lived many lifetimes."

Stiles started laughing so hard he could barely breathe. It was a novel experience for him…he couldn't believe he'd missed out on having friends for so long.

They talked and joked some more until they were done with their food and Jackson drove Stiles back to school.

{}{}{}{}

There was a tap at the window at around 1 am. Stiles opened it and let Derek in.

Derek was smiling a little, but it slowly faded away when he realized that Stiles was not looking at him and was acting tense and nervous.

"This a bad time?" he asked.

Damn all these lie-detector werewolves in his life.

"No, I haven't been very social with anybody lately. Just have a lot going on." Stiles felt like he'd used those words a thousand times.

"Want to talk about it?" Derek leaned back on Stiles' bed.

"No. I can't this time. I mean, I will…just not now."

"Fair enough. Didn't really have talking in mind anyway when I decided to drop by." Derek grinned at him, and Stiles' stomach did a slow somersault.

Stiles looked at him. Derek had kicked off his shoes and was lightly scratching the dark hair on the exposed strip of stomach where his t-shirt rode up.

"I like you, Derek. A lot." Stiles said this slowly and clearly, willing Derek to listen to his heart beat.

"I like you too." Derek's smile came back. Good, he'd listened.

"I want you always to remember that." Stiles stared straight into his eyes.

"You going somewhere?" Derek sat up again, the shirt covering his stomach once more.

"No, I'm not." _'But you probably are. As far and as fast as your legs will take you away from me.'_ Stiles thought.

"Then what's this all about?" The smile was gone again. Derek had finally realized that something was up.

"I'm just stuck between a rock and a hard place. Between something I want to do and something I have to do."

Derek nodded. "An obligation. I know what you mean. I have one to find Laura's killer, and figure out who murdered my family. I'm not leaving Beacon Hills until that happens. You…were completely unexpected. I can't really get too into this until I figure all this out. I know it's unfair to you…"

"No, I completely understand. That's sort of the situation I'm in. I'm hoping everything will be over soon though. If you still…you know…like me afterwards, I want to get to know you better."

"I'll definitely 'like you' afterwards," Derek said with utter conviction. "Will you like me?"

"Yeah, I will."

"Then it sounds like we understand each other. Now, you want to come keep me company on this bed? Feel free to get comfortable."

"Says the guy in MY bedroom." Stiles grinned. He felt he had made some sort of half-assed attempt to tell Derek the truth, and it would have to do.

Stiles pulled his shirt over his head and tossed it to the floor after first making sure the door to his room was locked. His jeans were next, but he left his boxers on. Derek also took off his shirt, but left his jeans on. Derek lay back with hands behind his head, a small smile in place as Stiles straddled him, feeling the firmness trapped beneath the denim pressing against him. Stiles explored Derek's stomach and chest with his hands, and Derek made no move to prevent him access. The muscular arms remained still as Stiles slid his hands along them from shoulder to wrist. He pulled Derek's right hand out and laid it against his own chest, wanting the older teen to feel his heart beat before he took the hand once more and examined it under the light. Fingers, thumb, palm, knuckles, nails. All perfect, smooth and strong. Stiles rubbed each nail with his thumb. "Come out," he told them.

Thick claws pushed from Derek's fingertips, leading to a fresh examination. Stiles extended his own claws, comparing them to Derek's and clicking them together. They were both fully shifted now, and it was suddenly Derek's teeth Stiles was interested in…Stiles leaned down and closed his open mouth against Derek's. Derek didn't kiss him, knowing what Stiles wanted…Stiles ran his tongue over the four sharp points in Derek's mouth, deliberately pressing against the last one to bring forth a drop of blood. Derek shuddered at the taste before swallowing it down, then returned the favor as he explored Stiles' own fangs with his tongue. Stiles sucked a clawed finger into his mouth, cheeks hollowing as Derek ran his other hand all over Stiles' back.

They pulled apart, breathing rapidly and enjoying the electric charge that seemed to flow through and between them. Derek unsnapped his jeans before suddenly looking at Stiles in concern.

"This too fast for you? Say the word and I'll happily blue-ball my way home."

"What we're doing is fine…I do want to take it a little slow though. I really want you to stay with me tonight. I don't want to be alone." Stiles hoped he didn't sound pathetic. Derek snapped his jeans shut again.

"You CAN strip down to your boxers though," Stiles told him.

"Not wearing any," Derek grinned. Stiles' heart lurched in his chest.

He fetched a pair from his dresser with the Flash on them, and tossed them at Derek.

"Oh my god…" Derek moaned in mock despair as he looked at them. "I don't think I like the irony of wearing this guy over my equipment." Stiles snickered as he turned away while Derek shucked his jeans and pulled on the only slightly too tight shorts. Stiles pulled off first his socks and then Derek's before getting under the covers with him. He turned and faced the wall while Derek spooned into him, wrapping his arms tightly around him and nuzzling into his neck. Derek began softly licking Stiles, between the shoulder blades and up to his neck where he bit down lightly before pushing his nose deep into Stiles' hair and giving himself over to sleep.

It was now, at this completely unexpected moment, that tears flowed from his eyes for the first time in years. He cried because he had never before been this blissfully happy. He cried because he was afraid it would never happen again.

If Derek sensed his distress, he gave no sign.

{}{}{}{}

Stiles woke just as the sun's first rays penetrated his bedroom. They were still in the same position from the night before, and Stiles had no desire to move. Derek mumbled something in his sleep, and his grip on Stiles tightened as he pressed his body further into him.

Possessive fucker.

Stiles never imagined he could ever be with someone; he felt he was too fucked up, too scarred, too jaded, too angry, too hateful. Derek's losses had been at least as catastrophic as Stiles', and yet here they were. They were able to recognize the pain that the other felt…to understand it and truly want to comfort each other. Neither of them would likely be able to find that with any other people. Neither of them would likely be able to face the other, once all of the secrets came out. Stiles leaned his head down and kissed the back of Derek's hand where it pressed against his chest…Derek had been feeling and listening to Stiles' heart all night, as if it were the only thing in the world that mattered. Derek did the neck licking/biting thing again as he came awake. Stiles managed to turn over in the tight grip so that he was facing Derek and (morning breath be damned) kissing him the way lovers do when they want to give their souls to one another through their mouths. Stiles pulled down his boxers and yanked Derek's down as well, wanting there to be nothing between them as they pressed together, intertwining their legs and tangling hands in each others hair.

After a half hour of this heavy make-out session, there was a light tap at the door.

"Stiles! School!" came Steven's voice.

They both snapped back to themselves and started laughing, trying to muffle the sound under the blankets.

"Stiles? You up?" came the voice again.

"Yeah! I'm up!" he called back.

Derek peeked under the blankets. "We both are."

Stiles climbed over a squawking Derek and padded into the bathroom. He turned the shower on before relieving his bladder, brutally brushing his teeth and rinsing with mouthwash. He glanced through the open door at Derek, still in bed. The older teen had watched the entire show with rapt attention. Stiles pointed at the shower.

"The fuck you waiting for, an engraved invitation?"

"That depends, is it engraved on your ass?" Derek whipped back the blanket and performed his own morning ablutions while Stiles soaped himself up.

Derek hopped in and helped him get to all of those hard-to-reach places, and Stiles was only a little late to school as Derek broke every traffic law in the book to get him there.

{}{}{}{}

Something was up at the school; you could almost sense the drama in the hallways. Kids were giving Stiles funny looks, which made him edgy for too many reasons to count. No one was running away scared, which was a good sign. He settled into his usual seat in homeroom when he noticed that Jackson wasn't around.

With some effort, he managed to get Scott's attention away from Allison long enough to ask what was going on.

"You haven't heard? It's too much! Jackson quit the Lacrosse team yesterday after school; he was the Captain and star player, and basically this destroys any chance we have of winning the playoffs. The team is really pissed at him, and Coach Finstock went so far off the deep end that the principal suspended him for a week without pay. After that, someone filmed Jackson asking Danny Mahealani out on a date with their phone! You believe that? Never thought he could be gay. The video's all over the school now, and everyone's giving Jackson a hard time. Three guys started fights with him, all of them guys he was buddy-buddy with back when he was on top!"

Stiles took this in with a sinking sensation in the pit of his stomach. He had to find Jackson. He left his bag in his seat, calling on his enhanced sense of smell to locate the scent of the first and only friend he ever had. The trail led out towards the field. When Stiles scented the blood, he began to run.

{}{}{}{}

He arrived at the spot behind the bleachers where kids often went to make-out, smoke or both.

Jackson was face down in the dirt, and he wasn't moving. Blood seemed to be pouring from every orifice in his head, and his jeans were pulled halfway down his legs, exposing his backside and the concentrated odors of blood and semen.

Stiles stood there and stared. Someone had written 'Exit Only' on Jackson's rear end with permanent marker. Jackson was barely alive, but someone had still taken the time and effort to inscribe that final insult.

Stiles began to shake with a rage he had never known. Something in him, some _other_ was struggling to the surface of his awareness. It wasn't the wolf…the sense of familiarity he felt told him this thing had been with him forever…it was the very darkest part of him given life. He held it back, calling on the wolf to help him keep it down, and the wolf was barely up to the task. The dark part fought savagely for control, to subsume Stiles _and_ the wolf while it raged with wondrous ferocity. No one would be safe from its wrath, no one would be recognized as friend or loved one. It meant to have them all, all the people and the world that dared to vomit them from its womb. Slowly, slowly he pushed it back, gritting sharpened teeth with the effort. Now was not the time. This thing could only harm but never help. For Jackson's sake…he made it gone.

His cell phone went off at that moment. It was a private number.

"Stiles? What the hell is happening? I…felt you, somehow. Your anger. What's going on?"

Stiles (still trembling with the aftershocks of his inner struggle) managed to get the story out, though he stuttered constantly. Peter barked "I'll be right there!" and hung up.

Stiles was in a trance. He kept inhaling one long breath after another, sorting through all of the myriad scents in the air. He discarded those that were too old. He discarded Jackson's natural odor as well as the odors of blood and semen. He discarded the odors of alcohol, cigarette smoke and marijuana. He discarded the scents of mutual passion from consensual trysts and those of anger and fear. He singled out only those odors that belonged to the people who had done this to Jackson…there were eight of them. Eight teenagers that made up the First Line of the Lacrosse team, apart from Jackson and Danny. Eight teenagers who had beaten and raped their ex-Captain for daring to break from their ranks. Stiles knew all of their names, and now had all of their scents. Soon, very soon now, he would find them. When he did, he intended to play with his food for a very…very long time.

_**A/N –**_ _**Any thoughts on what should happen to these guys? This stuff happens for real, folks. Please review and let me know what your thoughts are, some may even be worked into the story. All the best to the fans who don't mind this dark turn from the (somewhat) squeaky clean show.**_


	6. Chapter 6

Peter pulled up behind the bleachers, approaching Jackson and dropping to his knees, scenting the boy and listening carefully to his heart all the while examining him with his eyes. One of the attackers had stomped on Jackson's fingers, breaking the bones and causing the hands to swell up. Peter gently lifted up Jackson's shirt and letter jacket and whistled at the bruising and discoloration that covered his torso.

"He's been here all night. He's dying, Stiles. He has maybe minutes left."

"You've got to turn him. Please, Peter…just do it."

Peter nodded. He closed his eyes briefly and opened them to reveal the crimson-flamed gaze of the Alpha. His face pushed outward as the killing teeth grew, and he closed the great jaws around Jackson's wrist causing fresh blood to wet earth already soaked with it.

"There's no guarantee…not in his condition. You need to prepare yourself, Stiles." Peter told him after he shifted back.

Stiles shook his head. "He'll make it. I know he will. He survived me breaking a chair over his head, he'll get through this. He _has_ to." Stiles looked at Peter with burning amber eyes. "Peter, you have to help me get these guys. I have their scents…it was the rest of the Lacrosse team except for Danny."

"The Lacrosse team? Fascinating. Fate has a curious way of uniting our purposes. I was going to contact you today to tell you that I tracked down the last hired conspirator. His name is Garrison Meyers, ex-insurance adjuster…and present bus driver for the Beacon Hills High School Lacrosse team. I think we can kill nine birds with one stone."

Peter gathered Jackson up in his arms and placed him gently in the backseat of the car.

"I want to come with you. He'll need me when he wakes up." Stiles moved towards the passenger seat.

"No. I'll take care of him. If I were you, I'd want to make sure that the young man he put his life on the line for is safe until Jackson recovers. He's likely going to be a target as well."

Stiles' eyes grew wide. "Shit!" He took off running.

Checking one more time with his heightened senses to make sure there were no witnesses, Peter got in the car and drove back to his lair with the dying teenager.

{}{}{}{}

Stiles traced Danny's scent to the locker room. The First Line guys were there, but there were enough of the second stringers around that Danny was safe for the moment. Danny was just furiously slamming his locker door, and zipping up his bag to leave. Stiles got in his way.

"Danny, I need to talk to you. It's important."

The Hawaiian boy looked at Stiles in surprise. They had never passed more than ten words during their entire time together in high school, but Danny had never joined in on Stiles' torment over the years and had even given Jackson grief about it a few times.

"I have nothing to say to you, Lahey. I don't know what's gotten into this school lately, but you all better leave Jackson the hell alone!"

Stiles goggled at him for a second. "Danny, Jackson and I are friends now! Didn't he tell you?"

"Yeah, he did. Guess you scrambled his brains but good with that chair. Was it you that filmed him with that fancy new phone of yours? Just some more payback? Get in good with him and then screw his life up? All of you make me sick. For the first time in his life he stopped being so paranoid about his goddamned image and started coming out of his shell, and every kid in this school slams him into the ground."

Stiles shook his head. "Not every kid, just the rest of First Line."

Danny looked at him, startled. "What the hell do you mean?"

By this time the majority of the other players had left the locker room. Stiles heard the door slam with weird finality.

"Danny, I wasn't the one who filmed Jackson. We got over whatever problem we had…and believe me if someone had told me a month ago that we would be friends, I would have laughed in their face…but it's true. This morning I found Jackson behind the bleachers. The First Line guys beat him almost to death last night, and they took him behind the bleachers and…and they…" Stiles had a hard time saying it. Memories of Sam Lahey's own repeated assaults on him through the years flashed before his eyes.

Danny stepped close to him, fury contorting his features. "What, Stiles? What did they do?"

Trevor Connelly, the biggest and most arrogant player on the team came around the corner of the lockers.

"Yeah, Lahey? What did we do? I hope you have proof before you say whatever it is you're going to say to Tinkerbell over here. You start badmouthing this team and…well, you might start to wish you were back home with dear old Dad."

"You don't scare me, Connelly. You should be very scared _of_ me, though." Stiles stared down a surprised Connelly who gave a short whistle.

John Tragan appeared at the other end of the aisle, blocking their escape.

Stiles wanted so badly to rip them apart…but only two of the players were here. He wanted them all together; if he started to pick them off one by one, the remaining players might flee or turn themselves in. He also didn't want to shift here at school in broad daylight right in front of Danny and any other kid that might decide to come in either.

Danny was looking back and forth between John and Trevor with wide eyes. In all the years he'd been at this school, no one had called him anything like 'Tinkerbell' to his face…perhaps due to Jackson's once-powerful influence. He now realized he had never known his teammates…never seen what was festering under the surface waiting to come out. Part of him was scared shitless.

"Stiles," he said in a low voice. "What did they do to Jackson?"

"Nothing. I was just messing with your head. He'll be back tomorrow."

Trevor smirked. "I'm sure he will."

"I knew I shouldn't have listened to your bullshit, Stiles. Stay the hell away from me." Danny said in a scared false voice.

"Get going Dan. John and I gotta talk some sense into Lahey here. We'll catch up with you later at the rally…I promise."

Danny hesitated. Playing a part to throw them off was one thing, but he didn't want to leave Stiles with these two maniacs.

"Go on, Danny. I actually do want to talk to these guys…alone."

Danny picked up his bag and approached Tragan. After staring him down a moment, Tragan stepped aside and let him pass. The door slammed behind him.

Connelly and Tragan moved close to Stiles.

"I just got a text from one of my boys that Captain Cornhole's missing from behind the bleachers. I don't know where he disappeared to, but there are no cops anywhere so that means he could keep at least one of his holes shut. Might have a hard time with the other one for a while." Tragan snickered at Connelly's joke. "Think you can keep _your_ holes shut? Or do you need us to help you with that?" Connelly unzipped his fly, followed by Tragan a moment later.

Plans be damned. Stiles would just have to murder these two and find the others somehow…with or without Peter's help. He felt the shift begin.

The door to the locker room slammed open, and Mr. Leach walked in. Connelly and Tragan zipped up and hurried past Leach while Stiles wrestled the wolf back into the box, gritting and clenching his fangs the whole time. Leach (completely unaware of the danger to his life in doing so) walked right up to Stiles and said: "There. I've saved you from the big bad bullies. Do I at least get a 'thank you, Sir'?"

Stiles kept his mouth shut and stomped out. Leach looked after him. 'Ungrateful wretch!' he thought to himself.

{}{}{}{}

He caught up with Danny (once again tracking him by scent) to the same spot behind the bleachers where Jackson was attacked.

"Danny, what the hell are you doing here? You need to call your folks and have them pick you up! And don't even think about going to any fucking rally tonight!"

"I'm not an idiot, Stiles. That's why I sent Leach in after you, he happened to be walking down the hall. Where is he, for real? Did they…" Danny looked all around for some evidence of what happened.

"They beat him up and…they raped him, Dan. If you hadn't sent Leach, they would have done it to me too…or at least tried. Jackson is safe, and I'm getting him the best help he could get right now. He'll come through this and be all right." _'I hope.'_ Stiles thought.

"We've got to tell someone. You're living with the Sheriff now…call him!"

Stiles glared at Danny. "We couldn't prove anything, now…trust me. Besides, what would you have happen to them? Jail? A slap on the wrist? What would you _really_ do if you had the power, Dan?"

Danny looked at the ground. "I never told anyone this…but I have loved Jackson my whole life…even before I knew I liked guys. It was like…we were soul mates. We got along so well when we were young…then I came out, and he supported me. I never realized how much until today. I thought 'if I could just have him in my life forever…if I just got to be near him, even if it meant watching him raise a family with Lydia…I could be happy'. I dreaded the day he would ask me if I liked him…that way…and whether I would tell the truth and risk messing up our friendship or lie so I could stay close to him. But he never asked." Danny chuckled. "He told me one day with flat confidence that _anyone_ would find him attractive…like he was giving me the all clear to admit my feelings. I just called him an egotistical asshole and said I'd turn straight first. Not one day passed since that I haven't wondered what he would have said if I told him the truth." He looked at the sun, almost risen to its zenith and closed his eyes.

"I think they should pay, and I can tell already what you think. But it's not my call, and not yours either…it's Jackson's."

Stiles stared at him, open-mouthed.

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The rest of the school day passed in a fog. Danny feigned sickness and got picked up by his parents. Stiles retrieved his bag and sat through his classes until he was allowed to go home. He turned Danny's words over and over in his mind, trying to make sense of them. He sat through dinner without saying a word, and the Sheriff told him he was there if Stiles needed to talk. Isaac just looked really worried…an expression that seemed to be on his face all the time lately.

As he slid between the cool sheets of his bed, he prepared himself to stare at the ceiling for eight hours…but he was asleep within twenty minutes. The dream that took him was the most powerful, realistic vision he'd ever had.

_He was the Alpha, a giant wolf-like beast racing down a dark lonely road after a school bus with a tired engine and eight unsuspecting teenagers aboard. Stiles ran faster; he wanted them to see him coming, the monster in the dark that would come forth and end their miserable lives. He could see them clearly now, faces contorted in terror as they crowded the rear window, screaming at the driver to go faster. Stiles leapt and landed gracefully on top of the bus, marveling at the vast gulf of power that lay between Alpha and Beta…he began tearing open the fragile roof with his scythe-like claws as the bus swerved madly from left to right before dropping down and beginning an orgy of bloodshed and ending with a feast fit for the King of all werewolves. The players screamed and tried to get away, but the air was full of slicing claws and snapping teeth. The boys lost parts at first, a hand here, a leg there. A head flew the entire length of the bus from back to front, bouncing off the windshield. The deaths had only one thing in common…before each boy entered the final darkness that silences all screams, he knew what it was to be castrated…each boy watched their own bloody member ripped away, sometimes with a good portion of connecting flesh with it. Stiles gorged on one player after another until only piles of picked clean and cracked bones (enough to make eight skeletons) were strewn on the cushioned seats. The bus was awash in blood, it looked like someone had sprayed it with a firehose. Stiles growled…despite his feasting, hunger still tore at his belly and he turned and glared at the driver, who was none other than Peter Hale._

_ "Still famished? That's all right, we can make a quick stop!" he called back, grinning. Suddenly the bus was pulling over at the park, and it was daytime. Kids ran and laughed excitedly…and there was the Sheriff pushing a toddler-sized Isaac on a swing. Stiles jumped off the bus and stalked towards them growling. The kids fled, all except for Isaac and the Sheriff. Isaac suddenly hopped off the swing and lobbed a rock at Stiles' great lupine head. It felt like a tap, serving only to enrage the beast._

_ "You go away, monster! Leave my Daddy alone!" Isaac shouted._

_ The second rock flew. Tap._

_ Stiles roared and charged forward, jaws agape. His teeth closed on tender flesh…_

{}{}{}{}

"Ow! What the fuck, Stiles?" Jackson hissed, trying to keep his voice down. He inspected his bleeding finger. He'd been trying to wake Stiles up by tapping his forehead when Stiles lunged and bit him. Stiles gave a small shriek and skidded backward on his bed, hyperventilating and spitting Jackson's blood out.

Jackson looked at him with slightly amused eyes before glancing back at his finger. The wound had already closed up. "I cannot _believe_ this action!" he grinned.

"Jackson…how the fuck did you get in my room? Where did you come from?"

"Your friend Peter took me to that creepy lair of his. I don't remember anything except pain…so much goddamned pain, I kept wishing I were dead so that it would stop. Instead, the pain just started to go away slowly and I began to feel better. Eventually it was gone. You know, my doctors told me I could expect random headaches for the rest of my life because of that chair you hit me with…I'd had two already this week. I started calling them 'skullcrushers'. Not a sign of them now…or any of the other damage, thank god. Peter gave me the lowdown on being a werewolf and sent me on my way. YOU left your window open, so I took it as an open invitation. I felt like Edward Cullen, looking down at my beautiful Bella…" Jackson was trying to muffle his own laughter.

Stiles kicked him savagely off the bed. Jackson stood up and, unbelievably, dropped his pants and gave Stiles the kind of full moon that has no effect on werewolves whatsoever. "Think you can help me scrub off this permanent marker? Peter just looked nauseated when I asked."

"Very fucking funny. Pull your goddamned pants up, and leave anything involving your ass up to Danny. Listen Jackson, do you remember what happened to you? What the First Liners did?"

Jackson's eyes lost their amusement and he dropped into Stiles' desk chair after pulling his pants up.

"Yeah. I remember. Pretty fucked up, huh? You think you know some guys…" Jackson shrugged. "Man, they are going to be sorry when I catch up with them. By the way, thanks for looking out for Danny. I called him and told him I was okay. He…" Jackson rubbed at his eyes. "…he started crying right there on the phone. I mean, he was a mess. I kept telling him I was all right, and he said 'yeah, Jack-ass, that's why I'm crying.' I told him about the whole werewolf thing. Not sure he believed me…not sure I can believe it myself."

Stiles waited for him to go on, but Jackson just sat there growing and retracting his claws with childlike wonder.

"So…..what are you going to do?" It felt surreal that Jackson was not raving mad and plotting bloody revenge. Stiles wondered if this was some of that dream-within-a-dream crap.

"About what?" Jackson looked really curious.

Stiles wanted to shout, but felt sure his head would come apart at the seams. He settled for loud hissing. "About the assholes that did this to you!"

"Oh, them. Well, I could have had them arrested, except that now I can't prove they hurt me at all. Like I said, I am going to beat the ever-loving sweet Jesus out of them and make sure they leave Danny alone. In fact, I see regular ass-beatings in their future until we graduate, maybe a few toilet swirly shampoos." Jackson rubbed his hands together in glee.

"Jackson, you don't want to kill them? Rip them to shreds? Maybe do back to them what they did to you?"

Jackson looked shocked. "Rape them? Are you serious? Why the fuck would I want to become just as much of a scumbag as they are? Don't get me wrong, they have _serious pain_ coming their way, but-"

Stiles began banging his head into the headboard in frustration. "Jacks, I almost killed them _for you_ because _you_ almost died!"

"_I_ almost died when you hit me with that chair…for jabbing you with a lousy pencil. Would you have been happier if I _did_ die, knowing what you know now?"

"No, of course not!" Stiles sputtered.

"Should someone have killed _you_ for almost killing me? For jabbing you with a lousy pencil?"

"They jabbed you with something bigger than a fucking pencil…well, except maybe for Connelly…and not in the neck."

"Very funny. Look…I understand where you're coming from. I really do. But as someone who took my comeuppance from you as a chance to make a change for the better…what right do I have to deny other people the same chance by _killing_ them?"

Stiles felt he was going truly insane. "They…raped…you."

"They did, and they will be put in _fucking_ _traction_ for it. Believe me, I am not the 'forgive-and-forget' type. But Sty…remember when I told you that I didn't want to be hated? I didn't want to be alone?"

"Yeah."

"Wolfing out and killing those guys would be a great way to make that happen, don't you think? Plus I would have 'Ye Olde Pitchfork and Torch Bearing Mob' on my lawn. I don't want to lose my life trying to take another's. Fuck those assholes…I survived and they're not going to make me fuck up my life over them. They aren't worth it."

"I killed my father, Jackson. He raped me and my brother, and abused us for years in too many ways to count. Should I have forgiven him? Let him live?"

"Did you kill him to protect your brother, or as revenge for what he did to you?" Jackson demanded.

Stiles thought about it. "I'd given up on me…everything I did was to protect Isaac. I killed Sam when I saw he was about to…hurt Isaac…really bad."

"Then you've just answered your own question. Listen…_I_ was the one they did it to…and I don't want to kill them, just pound them into next week. Why should _you_ want them to die so badly?"

Stiles looked down at his feet, and hugged his knees to his chest. "Because they almost took away something I cared about. The only fucking friend I ever had."

"Oh, hell. C'mere." Jackson reached out and gave Stiles a crushing hug. "Listen, if someone were about to kill Danny, I'd rip out his throat…with my teeth! _I haven't forgiven them,"_ he said slowly. "I'm not Mother Teresa. People have to _ask_ me for it before they deserve it. And not just because I'm bashing their skulls in while they scream they're sorry. They have to _mean it._ But if all killing would do is let me vent some anger and lose my soul in the process…I'll keep my soul, thanks. You lose yourself, the bad guys win even if they _are_ dead."

Stiles sighed. "I don't agree. They should die. The world would be a better place. But I guess Danny is right…it's not my call to make. But if you start quoting Nietzsche at me, I am seriously going to throw you the fuck out this window."

Jackson couldn't resist. "Whoever fights monsters should see to it that in the process he does not become a monster. And when you look long into an abyss, the abyss also looks into you." he intoned solemnly.

"Try not to land in the flower patch." Stiles told him, standing up. A pair of clawed hands grabbed Jackson who squawked in surprised outrage.

{}{}{}{}

If drama could be felt in the air the day before, then today it was a kind of funereal aura of tragedy. No one spoke in the halls…teenagers just walked silently to their classes and sat there unmoving. The announcement came over the PA system, confirming what the school already heard…what the Sheriff had told Stiles over breakfast that morning…

The bus that transported the school's Lacrosse team had gone off a cliff, exploding and burning with such fury that barely any trace of the remains could be found. Eight teenagers and the driver (who had once been an insurance adjuster) were now declared dead. Of course, it was ruled an accident.

Jackson, Danny and Stiles sat next to each other in homeroom whispering furiously. Danny's eyes flicked back and forth between the other two.

"Were either of you responsible for that?"

Jackson shook his head. "Like I told you, Dan. I could never do that in cold blood."

Danny glanced at Stiles.

"Don't look at me. I was asleep when it happened. Jackson was there, he could tell you…he came to visit me to let me know he was all right."

"It was Peter, wasn't it?" Jackson asked.

"Yeah…and I think, somehow…he made me watch." Stiles told them all about the dream of the Alpha's bloody vengeance.

"Why would he do that for me?" Jackson asked, puzzled. "I don't even know the guy."

Stiles shook his head. "He didn't do it for you, Jacks. The _driver_ was the one he was after. I think he did it because it fit in with his goals, and maybe…maybe he thought it would bring me closer to him. I basically told him I wanted them all dead. I think he turned you for the same reason. Or maybe he wants your help with the Argents too. I don't know."

"The Argents? He wants to kill the fucking Argents?" Danny exclaimed.

Stiles sighed and filled them in on the Hale arson conspiracy…and his own role in helping Peter.

Danny was wide-eyed as he looked at Stiles. "So, you've helped him…kill people? Ripped them up? Like freaking _Harris?"_

_ 'Yeah, ate him too…'_ Stiles thought, but didn't say aloud. There was only so much a human could take.

"Yeah, like I said they burned his family alive, Dan. I freaking _watched_ it happen. These are dangerous fucked up people…even the Argents. They're like some kind of werewolf Assassin family, only they're not supposed to kill werewolves who play nice. Kids, and even some pregnant chick died in the fire who were human."

"That was the aunt? This Kate chick? Then why Allison and her parents?" Danny's eyes darted around constantly as if they were being hunted already.

Stiles shrugged. "Peter wants her to lose what _he_ lost before he kills her. A family. So far, everyone he's killed has earned it…in MY book, anyway…" Stiles glared at the two boys. "…but I don't think it's right to kill innocent people. Like Jackson said, it makes you no better than the guilty ones. I don't know Allison's parents or if they were in on the whole thing. Allison's got to be innocent, though."

"She's not gonna be innocent when she comes after your ass on her own vengeance trail. She's gonna have a pretty legitimate beef with you…in YOUR book." Danny put in.

Stiles looked at the ground. "I know. That's the thing about revenge…once it starts, it has no end. Like Peter's goddamned spiral."

"Who knew this town was so fucked up?" Jackson muttered.

"What's fucked up is I'm dating a werewolf." Danny retorted.

"You got a problem with that? Are you…lycan-phobic?" asked Jackson in mock outrage.

"You did NOT just make up a new civil rights movement, did you?" Danny quipped.

Jackson shrugged. "I'll go to your marches if you go to mine."

Stiles snapped his fingers in their faces. "What do you guys have, fucking ADHD? I don't know what to do here! It's a shit-storm no matter what happens! I promised Peter I would help with his revenge…he's supposed to turn my brother when it's done, and then turn himself over to Derek."

"You really think he'll do those things?" Jackson asked.

"Yeah. Werewolves make lousy liars…at least to each other. We can hear it. He has nothing to lose by keeping his word. I have everything to lose by breaking mine." Stiles chewed on his pen while he wrestled with the problem in his head. It was shredded by the time he found a solution.

"I'm gonna have to meet these guys. Scott and I are sorta friendly; maybe I can use him to get inside Casa de Argent and figure out what to do with the parents. Kate dies, Allison lives…the other two I'll just have to decide for myself."

Jackson looked at him like he was insane. "You, a werewolf, are going to blithely walk into Hunter Headquarters?"

"Yeah. I'm not afraid of them. How would they possibly figure me out? If they start something, then my problem is solved…either I'll be dead or they will."

Stiles got up and left them staring after him open-mouthed.

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Stiles' phone buzzed with the usual private number just as he was about to step into the rest room.

"Yeah? How's it going Pete."

"Very well. Touch of indigestion…"

Stiles rolled his eyes. "You got jokes, mister. Why'd you go to the dinner party stag?"

"The opportunity presented itself, and I felt it might be better in the long run for you not to be _associated_ with the other…guests. Disagreeable sorts, one and all. I thought I was doing you a favor by keeping you out of it and letting you watch the video footage from the comfort of your bed." Peter chuckled. "By the way, Jackson is a fine fellow…it makes me feel better knowing that you will be in the company of like-minded friends when I am gone. The endgame approaches, so that time will be very soon."

"You have a timeline in mind?" Stiles tried not to sound nervous.

"I'll keep an eye on a certain heavenly body. We have numerous advantages on particularly bright nights, if you get my meaning."

The night of the full moon. Of course Peter would want them to be at the top of their game when facing down the most dangerous foes of all. That gave him some time then. "Gotcha. Keep me posted."

"I'll do that. See you soon."

Stiles relieved himself, washed up and returned to class taking a seat next to Scott.

"Hey there, buddy!" Stiles grinned at him.

"Hey there," Scott answered back, looking confused.

"Listen, I really need to pass the next chem test with flying colors, and wanted to ask Allison if I could study with her. I know you two are close, so I didn't want you to think I was stepping on your toes. Allison got an 'A' on a freaking Harris test, so the next one should be a breeze if she gives me a hand."

"Jackson and Lydia got 'A's. Why don't you go study with them?" Scott's eyes were narrowed in suspicion. Stiles had an urge to jam his claws into them, but memories of how kind Melissa had been to Isaac and him made him feel ashamed at the thought.

"Lydia doesn't know I'm alive, and Jackson's going to be having study dates with Danny for a while. Look, Allison is very pretty, but I'm only interested in her mind. I'm already seeing someone, anyway."

"Yeah, who? Someone who's no good at chemistry, I guess?" Stiles tried not to be offended at how unbelieving Scott looked.

Maybe he could just poke out _one_ of Scott's eyes. Scott would still be able to see, and Melissa might forgive him eventually…

Stiles shook his head. He pulled out his phone, and showed Scott Derek's phonebook entry and contact picture.

"Oh, dude, I didn't know. Damn, that's going around. No wonder Danny doesn't want you over to study. Hey, this isn't some ploy to get in _my _pants, is it?"

Just as Stiles was getting ready to shove a clawed hand down Scott's throat and yank out whatever he happened to grab, Scott chuckled and punched him lightly on the arm.

"Just messing with you, bro. You shoulda seen the look on your face, thought your eyes were glowing for a second!"

"So…can I come over to study with you guys?" Stiles grated out through clenched fangs while holding his hand over his mouth.

"Yeah. Wednesday night's at my place, but since my Mom's not gonna be home, I don't think we'll be doing much studying." Scott leered. "Let's do Friday…it will be at her parent's and they watch us like hawks anyway. Her creepy aunt will be there too, and she loves to barge in Allison's room without knocking. I'll clear it with Allison, I'm sure she won't mind."

"Thank's Scott. You're my best friend ever." 'Tool.' Stiles thought privately.


	7. Chapter 7

"All right, Stiles. Enough is enough. What on earth is bothering you?" Steven Stilinski put down his fork and stared at Stiles across the table. Isaac was in the middle of chewing a mouthful of loaded baked potato and froze. Dinner time confrontations had been a routine occurrence at the Lahey home, but this time there was no screaming, blood and broken crockery. The look of concern on the Sheriff's face made Isaac's stomach clench. While his older brother was off on his 'Assassin Missions' as he thought of them and doing god knows what else, Isaac had spent some major quality time with the Sheriff. Over the past few days he had basically told the older man almost everything about their life prior to Sam's death. The Sheriff took it in in shocked silence, and while he did not outright cry his eyes were red and wet almost constantly. Steven told Isaac almost his own whole life story…how he had met his wife Stella, her untimely death just when they were planning on having children…some amusing Stilinski family history. Sometimes they just sat there and discussed life issues, and Isaac's plans for the future. Isaac had a small crush on some girl named Erica who was just a tad older than him. She had epilepsy, and many of the other kids made fun of her for it, but Isaac was gone completely on her. Steven gave him some man to man advice on how to proceed, which from the worshipful look on Isaac's face he was taking as absolute gospel. Steven wished that Stiles would open up as well…he felt he was not reaching him, but it was not surprising. As the older boy and surrogate parent to Isaac, it made sense that Stiles would be more reticent. Steven didn't want to push him…but these dead silent dinners were driving him crazy.

"Come on, tell me. Is it girl trouble?" the Sheriff persisted.

Stiles finally stopped playing with his food and met Steven's gaze. "I'm seeing another guy, Steve."

Ok, bombshell. Steven did not see that coming. Apparently neither did Isaac who sprayed the table with half-chewed potato.

"Well, how's it going? This is your first relationship, right? Do you want to have him over for dinner some night?" Steven brushed some Isaac's potatoes off of his cheek.

"You'd be okay with that?"

"If I thought he was making you happy, I'd roll out the red carpet for him. That's all I care about, Stiles."

Stiles covered his face with his hands, sniffling loudly. Steven became alarmed. This was not the reaction he was expecting. "Son, did you think I would reject you because you were seeing a boy?"

Stiles shook his head. "No, I thought you might be cool with it. You're the greatest, and I mean that. The way you treat Isaac, like your own son…I can never repay you for that."

"Stiles, I'd like to think I've treated both of you like my own son…because that's how I look at you boys."

In a whisper so low Steven barely heard it, Stiles muttered "Ugh…god…why does it hurt when you say that?" Stiles looked away, hand pressed against his chest. "I knew that. I _know_ that. I'm sorry if I seemed like an ungrateful little sh-…sorry, I'm gonna try and cut down on the sailor-talk. This has all been like a dream that I'm too scared to wake up from. It's the only part of my life that's been normal. I feel stable here…safe."

"That makes me happy to hear."

"You know, I've wanted to call you 'Dad' for days…but the word always felt like…I don't know. An evil spell or something."

"Like in 'Evil Dead'!" Isaac told the Sheriff, who rolled his eyes.

"We're not seeing that movie, Isaac for the thousandth time." The Sheriff harrumphed before turning back to Stiles. "While it would make me really happy if you did, it's not something I let myself hope for. But I don't think any of this is why you've been so quiet lately."

"No. It's about Derek…he and I are fine, now anyway. I'm just worried about the future."

"What _about_ the future? You mean like…um….physical…um…" Steven's face flushed bright red. Isaac snorted around a mouthful of fresh potatoes, probably lodging some in his sinus cavities.

Stiles grinned. "I am SO sorry to be putting you through this, Steve. No, not any of that stuff." Stiles took a deep breath, considering his next words. "I've been keeping stuff from him. I had no choice. When he finds out…and he will…he's probably gonna dump me. He'll have every right to. It's going to be _really bad_ for me when that happens."

Though Steven had no idea what Stiles could possibly be talking about, he felt a chill at Stiles' last words. From the look on the boy's face and the tone of his voice…it was like he didn't think he would _survive_ the ordeal.

"How do you boys feel about each other? How strong is it?"

"He…um, I don't know. He's not exactly easy to read." Stiles took a deep breath. "But I like him a lot, Steve. Aw, fuck it. Dad."

Steven wondered if his ears had just deceived him.

"Yeah, I just called you Dad." Stiles' eyes were leaking tears now. "I'm ashamed I didn't sooner. You earned it…in any sane world we would have been born your sons. Look at you sitting there trying to help me when most other fathers would be throwing things at me. I-I held myself back because I was scared that you would change…or abandon us. I couldn't stand being betrayed like that again…but I know you would never do that. Same thing with Derek…I'm scared to death how much I like him. I'm not good with having things taken away from me."

"Stiles…I will never stop trying to live up to your expectations. I will never betray your trust like that…you and Isaac always have a home here, no matter what. Having you boys here…well it made me realize how goddamned empty my life was. I never want to go back to that. My worst nightmare is waking up one morning and finding you both gone. Then _I_ would snap. As for Derek…if he can't see how great you are, then he doesn't deserve you. I don't know what will happen in the future…but all things happen for a reason. Don't pin all your hopes and dreams on someone unworthy. If he is worthy, then he'll never leave you…_no matter what."_

Stiles nodded his head, the power of speech having left him temporarily.

"So I think it's high time I met my potential future son-in-law. Tell him dinner is promptly at 6 tomorrow evening, and he's responsible for dessert."

"This is going to be better than a video game!" mumbled Isaac around yet more potatoes.

{}{}{}{} _**24 hours later…**_

The doorbell rang, saving Stiles from the small worry that Derek would forget himself and creep in through the window. Isaac beat Stiles to the door and threw it open wide…his curiosity had been burning his brain the whole day.

Derek stood there under the porch light, unbelievably handsome in tight jeans, leather boots and jacket and grey Henley t-shirt. It was his usual attire, as if he had endless racks of the same items in his closet. That was cool, Stiles half thought he might come in a tux.

"So, you two are boning each other, huh? Try to keep it down. The walls aren't that thick you know." Isaac said in that no-filter way that is so adorable…in eight year olds. There was a clatter of pots from the kitchen as Steven dropped whatever he was holding.

Stiles gave a high-pitched laugh. "Oh, Isaac, you are just so…" Stiles suddenly leaned in close to his brother with burning amber eyes while grabbing his face in claw-tipped fingers. "…_dead_ after Dad goes to bed tonight!" He snapped his fanged jaws menacingly.

"Bitch, please." Isaac told him, shoving him rudely away. Isaac wandered off to the living room as if suddenly losing interest in the two of them.

"Charming." Derek said, grinning.

"Sorry…my little brother took an entire bottle of 'obnoxious' pills. It's payback for me not telling him you were a guy until yesterday. Wonder where he gets that vengeful streak from."

Derek handed him a wrapped box from which the delicious odor of chocolate tickled his sensitive nose. "Chocolate Truffle Bomb. Hope it meets with your approval."

Stiles took the box and ran it to the kitchen where Steven was just pulling the leg of lamb out of the oven. He hurried back and took Derek's jacket to hang in the coat closet. Derek took a deep breath and marched into the dining room where Steven had just served up the sizzling main course. Derek walked over and shook the Sheriff's hand.

"Nice to meet you, Sir. Derek Hale."

Steven gave it a firm shake. "Steven Stilinski. _Sheriff_ Steven Stilinski."

Stiles wanted to bang his head into the wall. Steven was acting like a typical over-protective parent. The thought suddenly made him grin for some reason.

"Hale? Not Erick and Diana's boy?" Steven said, squinting at him.

"Yes, Sir." Derek's face could have been etched from stone.

'_Drop it, Dad. Just drop it.'_ Stiles telepathically projected.

Steven nodded. "I'm sorry. They were fine people. Your mother was close friends with my late wife."

Derek's eyes widened in shock. "Really? I didn't…I had no idea."

"Stella was devastated when…you know. She died about a year after. I have an album somewhere that has quite a few pictures of them together. I'll try and find it for next time."

Derek looked like he was hyperventilating. "Sir…you have no idea how much that would mean to me. I have nothing…everything burned up in the fire…nothing to remember her by."

"Well, you will as soon as I find it. Wish I'd known, I'd have gone hunting for it today."

It was clear that whatever macho male pissing contest was scheduled for the evening had been cancelled or at least postponed; surely the gods had intervened on Stiles' behalf.

'_About fucking time!'_ Stiles thought sacrilegiously.

They sat down at the table and began to eat.

{}{}{}{}

The food was delicious; Steven had really outdone himself. Stiles even had two helpings of salad, and he'd never been a fan of rabbit food. There was steamed vegetables, corn on the cob and rice pilaf on the side, plus the lamb which was as close as eating food could get to sex. Between the four of them, they demolished everything. Steven brought out milk (for Isaac) and coffee for everyone else while Stiles began to cut and serve the Chocolate Truffle Bomb. Isaac looked like he'd died and gone to heaven with his first bite. Stiles was not a big chocolate fan, but still thought it was good. Steven and Derek each had two pieces.

"So, what brings you back to town, Derek?" Steven asked before mentally smacking himself. As Sheriff, he knew about Laura Hale's violent death a few months before. Derek realized the Sheriff was just making conversation, but his polite tone became a little forced.

"Just tying up some loose ends. I had no plans to stay afterward… until I met Stiles here."

Derek took Stiles' hand and gave it a squeeze. The Sheriff watched Stiles carefully, and didn't miss the boy's obvious happiness.

"Well, I'm glad you two met, then. How are you supporting yourself?"

"I'm legally emancipated, and I have control over my family's money. I got a G.E.D., but haven't thought about what I want to do yet. I'll know more when I'm finished with my business here."

"I see. Stiles, do me a favor and clear the table with Isaac while I have a chat with Derek on the porch."

Stiles looked back and forth between the two men with wide eyes while Isaac just immediately began lugging dishes in. Derek followed Steven outside and the door closed behind him.

"What the hell is all that about?" Stiles remarked to no one.

"Oh, Dad's just going to threaten him." Isaac told him blithely.

"I'm counting the ways that can go wrong." Stiles joined his brother in cleaning up.

{}{}{}{}

"Something you wanted to discuss with me, Sir?" Derek asked politely.

"It's going to be a short discussion; just five words. They are 'You be careful with him.' Got that?"

Derek nodded. He was half-expecting something like this. "I will. I…know some stuff about his history."

"You don't know everything. I don't know everything! There's something going on with him, and it makes him think people will abandon him. Our pasts make us do things that others don't understand. I want you to make sure you have a really open mind for the possibilities! I think Stiles is in the grip of something he cannot completely control; he's just a kid for crying out loud…though one of the strongest kids I've ever met. If you aren't ready to stick by him, no matter what…it would be better if you left now before he becomes really attached." Steven turned to face him fully. "You're no stranger to tragedy, son. Neither am I. Of all people in the world, we have the best chance of understanding him and helping him. The number of people he trusts could be counted on one hand, and you'd have fingers left over. Don't betray that trust. Don't betray that trust and let me find you, that is."

Derek nodded again. "The feelings I have for him are…"

"Son, I'm sure they're deep and real and heartfelt. That's easy, when things are at their best. If you could say that when things are at their _worst_, then I'll feel much better about you two. Just…don't judge him unless you can walk a mile in his shoes. When we know everything…what happened and how it affected him…what it's making him feel and do right now…that's when I'm going to need you to stick by him the most. Some secrets are better left buried…but in my experience nothing stays buried forever. If you truly care about him, then nothing…no secret, however painful…should ever change that. We clear?"

Derek nodded. "Crystal."

"Good. Let's go inside."

The two men came back in and found the table cleared with all food put away and all dishes in the washer. Stiles was playing a video game with Isaac.

"Isaac, get your coat. We're going to the movies," the Sheriff barked, surprising everyone.

"Ooohh, can we see the new Evil Dead?" Isaac asked for the 1,001st time as he bounced off his chair.

"Sure, no harm in that." Steven muttered.

Five minutes later, Derek and Stiles were alone in the house.

"He loves you a lot. That was some talk we had out there." Derek stuck his hands in his pockets.

"Never knew anybody like him could exist. That goes for you too." Stiles turned away, visibly upset. Derek was reminded of Steven's words, and wondered what shadow could possibly be darkening his soul.

"I feel the same way." Derek walked over and wrapped his arms around Stiles, who remained stiff and facing in the other direction.

"You won't always." Stiles muttered.

"Why do you say that? You can tell me anything, you know." Derek squeezed tighter, and felt Stiles starting to loosen up.

"I know, and I will. Just not now."

Derek closed his eyes and took a chance. "And when you do…I won't judge you. I'll try to understand. I won't leave you, I swear."

Stiles broke free and stared at Derek, an amber glow in his eyes.

"Don't fucking promise me that, Derek. Not unless you mean it. I am trying so hard to not to let myself hope for that. I almost think I could survive if I drove you away because I at least had you for a little while. But if you give me that hope and then fuck me over…"

Derek gripped Stiles' shoulders. "If this is what it takes, then I swear I will stay with you as long as you'll have me. I will never leave you unless you tell me to leave. No matter what."

Stiles closed his eyes, and started to tremble. "Say it again if you mean it. Keep saying it to me."

"I'll say it all night to you…tonight and every night." Derek whispered in his ear.

"Prove it."

"Want to start right now?" Derek asked as he led Stiles upstairs to his bedroom.

A note lay on Stiles' bed. 'You both need to wear clothes, and the door needs to be left open at least halfway. Derek will make coffee in the morning before driving you and Isaac to school. Steven Stilinski, _**Sheriff**_, Beacon Hills.

Stiles stared at the note, open mouthed, while Derek chuckled darkly.

"You wanted a father and a family, Stiles. Now you've got them."

As they climbed into bed, Derek once again crushed Stiles to his chest and pressed his nose deep into his strange and wonderful boyfriend's dark hair and murmured over and over again: "I'll never leave you. No matter what. I swear."

Sometime, between when Stiles fell asleep and when he woke up the next morning, he took a risk and allowed himself to embrace that bitter illusion, hope.

{}{}{}{}

Isaac barged in the next morning, causing both werewolves to snap to full alertness.

"Dad! They're _naaaaaaked!"_ He took off running down the hall. There was a distant sound of yet more pots dropping in the kitchen.

Stiles flopped backward into his pillow. "I am going to eat him a tiny piece at a time."

Steven appeared in the doorway looking terrible (he had spent a long sleepless night dreaming about demonic-possessed zombies), but saw that both boys were indeed clothed and walked away shaking his head. "That just got you some dishwashing duty, mister! Thanks for the heart attack!" Steven called after Isaac before stomping downstairs.

"It was worth it!" Isaac called back.

Derek started laughing into his pillow. "I was just like him…before. I don't know how Laura didn't…" He closed his eyes again as the pain swept over him, knocking him flat as powerfully as it did the day he found out she was gone. As if the rest of his family weren't enough to satisfy the cruel and violent gods that ruled the world.

Stiles pulled him close and hugged him tight…this strange feeling of comforting someone else was new and intriguing; the power to end pain was so much rarer than the ability to give it, after all.

"You have me. You'll always have me as long as you want me." Stiles whispered softly.

"And you'll always have me. Forever."

Stiles pulled Derek even closer.

{}{}{}{}

The next few days leading up to 'Study Night' at the Argents were mostly uneventful. Stiles hung out with Jackson (when he wasn't off somewhere with Danny) and talked of mostly inconsequential things like Finstock quitting and taking a new job in L.A. He was never right in the head once he found out about his team, and his new teaching position involved no coaching duties whatsoever. Jackson said he felt guilty that the whole mess had started with him quitting, but Danny gave him a smack on the head.

"You're really saying you wish you never asked me out while I'm sitting right here?" he quipped.

"No! That's not what I mean, Dan!" Jackson whined. Jackson obviously liked dominating personalities; werewolf or not, Danny definitely wore the pants in their relationship.

"Oh, stop torturing him already." Stiles grumbled. His thoughts were constantly on Derek, when they really needed to be on Peter Hale and the Argents. Stiles was trying to think of a way to introduce Jackson to Derek without Derek asking more uncomfortable questions about the responsible Alpha. Stiles had described his own attack, but never revealed that it was Peter Hale or that he'd had contact with him after the attack.

"He loves it, don't you?" Danny asked, pinching Jackson's cheek. Jackson snapped at the offending fingers, eyes glowing slightly blue.

"Maybe he does, but his wolf doesn't." Stiles spotted Scott across the cafeteria and abandoned his friends, dropping into the seat across yet another lovesick teenager.

"Hey, buddy. We still on for Friday?" he asked brightly. He frowned, looking at Scott…he seemed pale and weak looking.

"Not sure. My asthma's been acting up all week…I've been attached to this goddamned thing for days." Scott waved his inhaler around. Stiles had no idea he'd even needed one. "Mom gets nervous when I'm not at home when it gets this bad."

"Well, if you can't make it, I'm sure Allison and I will get along fine." Stiles turned to go when he felt Scott grab his arm. The grip was pathetic and weak, but it still pissed Stiles off.

"What?!" he said more harshly than he meant.

"Dude, I don't know you that well. I'm not sure how comfortable I am letting you and my girlfriend study together."

Stiles rolled his eyes before fixing them on Scott. "Listen, you insecure jealous asshole. I need to ace that test, and _nothing_ is going to stop me. Now, if it takes getting my boyfriend over here and sticking my tongue and a few other things down his throat to convince you that I AM NOT INTERESTED IN ALLISON in a SEXUAL WAY, then I will do it. Hell, maybe I'll use _your_ throat instead. Would you like that? Huh?"

Scott recoiled, though he managed to squeeze out a few fake laughs. "No…no, that's fine. Just making sure man. Listen, it's just that she's…"

"Your first. I know. The whole damn school knows. CNN knows. Now tell Allison I'll be coming over with or without you and if it's without, then you just stay home and keep your fucking tits on while we study chemistry and NOT biology and anatomy. I promise I will not even bat my eyes at her. In fact, we'll probably be comparing notes about how good our boyfriends are in bed. So, nothing to worry about. Capisce?"

Stiles didn't wait for an answer, just got up and stalked out of the cafeteria.

His cell phone buzzed. Stiles closed his eyes and gritted his teeth before looking at it and grinning in surprise.

It was the Sheriff. He clicked the phone on.

"Hey, Dad! What's up?"

"Got a surprise for you. I'm in the parking lot."

Stiles jogged out to meet him and goggled at what he saw.

Steven was standing next to a blue CJ-5 Jeep that had seen better decades, and waving the keys at Stiles.

"What's this?" Stiles walked over to the Jeep and ran his hands along it. It looked like not all the parts were original for all that it was in good condition. There were no locks on the doors or gas cap, one of the front windshield wipers was missing and from what Stiles knew about these models, it was a gas-eater with an incredibly loud engine noise at any speed over 20 mph. The top was some kind of custom job, and Stiles could only wonder if it was water-proof. It could seat four people in a pinch, max…as long as at least two were very skinny and had short legs.

"It's been in the impound lot for 30 years. I figured I'd save the state some money hauling it to the junkyard and let you use it until we find something better. I know it's not the classiest ride…

"I love it. I don't even know why, but I love it. It looks…tough, like it's been through hell and survived."

Steven gave him a small sad smile. "Well, then take it with my blessing. The Mayor pulled some strings for me getting the title fixed, and Isaac told me you had your license and stick-shift experience from…before. It's gassed up, and I had motor pool go over it stem to stern to make sure it was safe. The insurance is in my name. Just be careful out there, all right?"

Stiles threw his arms around Steven and gave him a tight hug.

"Thank you. This means so much to me."

"Well, I'm glad you like it. Now get back to class, I'm sure lunch is over by now."

Stiles did return to class, but all of his attention was focused on his new ride sitting there in the parking lot…just waiting for him.

{}{}{}{}

On Friday evening at the appointed time, Stiles drove up the winding driveway to the opulent Argent mansion. Stiles parked the Jeep, and failed to notice the cloud of noxious fumes it sprayed from the exhaust into a painstakingly kept patch of prize-winning petunias (condemning them to a slow and torturous death).

He knocked on the door, and it was opened by a grinning man in his late thirties with blond hair and hard blue eyes. He blocked the doorway while he gave Stiles the once over, his entire aura suggesting danger and intimidation.

That aura would have totally worked if Stiles had not survived ten years under Sam Lahey and went on to acquire retractable claws and fangs.

"Hi, Allison home? We're supposed to study."

"I'm her father, Chris. Are you a friend of Scott's? Why isn't he here tonight?"

Stiles shrugged. "Bad asthma. You know how it is."

"No, I don't. You seem pretty healthy." The blue eyes seemed to be searching for something rather intently.

"So, can I come in?" Stiles' patience was nearing its limit.

Chris stepped back into the house. "I don't know, can you?"

"Who is it, Dad?" came Allison's voice.

Chris turned his head just as Stiles made to step across the threshold…only to find he couldn't. 'What the fuck?' he thought as he looked down. There seemed to be a line of dark powdered ash across the doorway. It seemed like there was a brick wall in his way.

Allison pushed her father aside and grabbed Stiles, her foot scuffing the line and making the invisible brick wall disappear instantly. Stiles walked in, his face betraying no emotion while inside he was raging. He had almost given away the game before he stepped foot in the house! He had to be very careful with these people and never, ever underestimate them.

Allison pointed towards the den where her books were set up on a table. His acute hearing picked up a hissed conversation.

"Just checking to be sure…" from Chris.

"God, Dad! I'm not even dating him! He's Scott's _gay friend_ for crying out loud!"

Stiles winced and tried not to notice the smirk Chris threw his way. He wondered if his own blood boiled hot enough if steam would come out of his ears.

A woman with flame red hair and an outfit that looked like it cost more than his new Jeep appeared with a tray of cookies.

Setting the tray down, she put her hand out, thought better of it and withdrew it slowly with a look that said _'Oh, I'm sorry…I didn't realize you were a leper.'_

"I'm Victoria, young man. What was your name again?"

"My name's Stiles. Stiles…" he realized he'd almost said 'Stilinski'. Hmm, a little weird, but it sounded kind of neat.

"Stiles Stiles?" asked Victoria with a polite air of puzzlement. She must think him enfeebled.

"Stiles Lahey, ma'am," he reached for a cookie, then pulled back his own hand. Christ knew what they put in them. Werewolf poison?

"Lahey…oh yes, I heard about your house fire and your father. I'm very sorry." Victoria's eyes looked at him with almost real sympathy.

"It's all right. The Sheriff took me and my brother in. It's been working out really well."

Allison came in and sat down next to Stiles, beginning to rifle through her notes. Victoria smiled at them and returned to the kitchen while Chris glowered at them before retreating upstairs.

"Sorry, they are uber-crazy these days."

Stiles picked up a packet of flash cards. "Yeah, Scott told me a little bit about them. You have an aunt, too?"

"Yeah, she's out with the…um, friends. She should be back soon."

Stiles filed that away.

Maybe it was the werewolf's learning curve, but sitting here with Allison and really making an effort to learn the material, he found it easier than he ever had at school. Maybe he would pass the next test on his own without eavesdropping on Jackson (who tended to whisper to himself as he worked his way through the test questions).

Allison of course could not resist asking him about his personal life, but Stiles deflected her by asking her about Scott.

"Scott is very…dedicated. And loyal. He never forgets plans with me or blows them off, he's always doing these sweet things as a surprise for me…"

Scott sounded whipped and pathetic…but Stiles hadn't been the poster boy for Mentally Sound Boyfriends so he tried not to judge.

"So, have you guys, you know…untz untz untz." Stiles should at least walk away from this with something to torment Scott with on Monday.

Allison gave a high laugh and blushed Scarlet. "Well, I'm not one to kiss and tell, but…my unicorn-riding days are over."

Stiles had a puzzled look on his face (he was wondering if 'unicorn' was a code-word for 'vibrator') when Allison clarified.

"Oh, that means I lost my v-card. But Scott gets so out of breath with his asthma that he mostly has to lie there while I…"

Victoria appeared at this worst of all moments with some bottled waters and ice. After she retreated back into the kitchen, Allison leaned towards Stiles and whispered "Listen, this is all between just us, right?"

Stiles nodded sagely as if the thought of torturing Scott had never crossed his mind.

"So…how are things with your new boyfriend? I mean, with two guys there's probably no holdup or b.s. that hetero guys do to get in a girl's panties, right?"

"Nope, no b.s….just the sound of belt buckles hitting the floor. Not even sure what Derek's last name is…or is it Dalton? Donald?" Stiles said blithely, while Allison gave a scandalized laugh.

"So…have you done… everything?"

Stiles blushed, to his own surprise. "No, not a lot. We slept naked once, and made out a lot. Then my Dad…uh, my new one that is…well, when I told him about Derek he made some rules about sleep-overs. We're just busy getting really close with each other right now…it's very new for me."

"Do you think he's 'the one'?" Allison asked.

Stiles' eyes began to sting. He didn't want to talk about this anymore.

"He's…he's the _only_ one." Stiles spoke this with such utter flat conviction that Allison was silent for a moment. Then she leaned over and gave him a tight hug.

"I'm very happy for you. You deserve the best." Allison's heart remained steady while she said this, and Stiles felt his throat close up a little. He hugged her back uncertainly, having reaffirmed his decision in his mind that Allison was not to be harmed. Ever. The parents…Victoria seemed all sharp edges but for a second there at the end. Chris had a strong asshole streak, but that could just be over-protectiveness.

The front door opened, and a young woman in her early twenties came in. Her look was dark and alluring, and she was dressed to kill. No trace of insecurity or weakness anywhere…she was a predator if Stiles ever saw one. This had to be Kate.

Chris came out to greet her while she stared at Allison and Stiles who had just pulled apart from their hug.

"Who's the new kid? Is Allison over McWheezy already?" Kate murmured to Chris while Stiles pretended he couldn't hear. "My niece is definitely making the rounds of the geek squad. Maybe I should have a talk with her."

"He's gay squad, not geek squad. Scott's got a date with his inhaler tonight, poor kid."

"Gay squad? Well, well…Allison's a fruit fly. Could be worse, but she does keep bringing these strays home. Oh well, mind if I have a little fun with him?"

Chris snickered, but hissed at her "No, Kate. Come on, leave him alone."

Kate ignored him as she breezed over.

"Hey, Allison! How's my favorite niece?" Kate gave Allison a peck on top of her head, looking at Stiles with over-bright eyes and a huge fake smile. "And who's this strapping young man?"

So this was the woman who started it all…who seduced a pre-pubescent Derek before using him to burn his family alive. And she had the gall to sit there and smile at him.

"Hi. I'm Stiles. You must be Aunt Kate. Scott's description didn't do you justice." '_He left out Psychotic Mega-Bitch' _Stiles thought.

"I bet it did. I hope my brother and sister-in-law haven't been too heavy handed with the whole chaperone thing. I keep telling them that Allison can take care of herself…the women in our family are not to be trifled with…unless we _want_ to be."

Allison rolled her eyes.

"I don't…trifle…much with girls anyway." Stiles said evenly.

"You probably haven't met the right one. It's okay to like boys, sweetie. There's a lot to like about them. They're strong, if a little weak-minded. I bet you love you some big strong dumb man out there somewhere. That's why we Argent women are so unique…most women are the brains of an outfit…but _we_ are the brawn too! I'll prove it…let's arm wrestle!"

Allison looked at her in shock. "Aunt Kate! Stop it, Stiles didn't come here to get his arm almost broken like you did to Scott! I'm amazed he ever talked to me again! Stiles, just ignore her, she has a total Kung-Fu grip and she looks for any reason to show it off…"

"Allison, honey…you just made our little fellow here feel, well…inadequate. Let him give it the old college try…unless that stereotype about limp wrists has some truth to it?"

Stiles knew what she was trying to do. Sam Lahey had humiliated him enough times for Stiles to know that this bitch was into the same twisted shit. She just couldn't relax until everyone in the room knew that she was top dog. Stiles wanted to teach her a lesson as he never had any of the numerous assholes in his life, Sam included. Sam was twisted and sick…but this bitch was downright evil, and loved it.

There were three options.

First, do his damnedest to kill her. It would short circuit Peter's whole vendetta and earn Stiles his wrath but also take away any reason he would have to hurt the remaining Argents. On the downside, the Sheriff might be a little upset.

Second, teach her a lesson she would not forget (until the night of the full moon when she would die) which would likely reveal himself as a werewolf and cause all sorts of problems…starting with Stiles getting out of this house alive.

Third, go for it and let her win. She couldn't cause him any lasting pain or damage. Of course, she would have a small look of triumph on her face that Stiles would rather claw out his own eyes than see…

"Focus, buttercup! So, think you're 'man' enough to take me on?" Kate's grin was Cheshire cat-like.

Stiles chose Option 4.

"I think you're man enough for both of us, sweetie." Stiles told her, affecting an effeminate voice. I thought I saw you down at the 'Meow Mix'. Never got out of that 'experimental phase' in college, hmmm? I don't blame you…boy parts are so _tremendously_ complicated…women just can't seem to get the knack. Always using teeth when they shouldn't and all that. Do yourself a favor and stick with the tuna…that's a metaphor, by the way. You should actually try to avoid eating seafood…no use smelling like that from _both_ ends."

Kate had turned chalk white with rage.

"You…_filthy…ANIMAL!"_ Her fingers were curled into claws. Allison looked like she was torn between being terrified and bursting into laughter.

Stiles pretended to look bored. "Allison dear, take your aunt in the other room and help her pull out that tampon string. She's having total Toxic Shock Syndrome right now. Take along a life raft and try not to drown in the flood. Well, I've really _got_ to be going. I want to see Bruce before he goes back to his _harridan _of a wife. See you at school!"

Stiles sauntered his way to the door while Kate just stared after him like she wanted to stab him in the face.

When the door closed behind him, he resumed his normal walk and allowed himself the luxury of shaking with rage. When he and Peter finally got to her, Stiles would personally make sure that he twisted her arm right out of its socket before she died. His beautiful new Jeep couldn't get him away from that stupid house fast enough.

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Allison must have called Scott and the two of them spent the remainder of the evening blowing up Stiles' phone. They were both in hysterics, and Allison declared that Stiles was now her BFF while Scott was in deep admiration that Stiles came out on top of Kate, so to speak. In the middle of it, Allison apologized for her aunt's behavior while Stiles did the same about his generally misogynistic remarks. Allison told him not to worry about it, it was worth it to see her aunt so enraged.

"She's not going to try and hunt me down, is she?" Stiles asked nonchalantly.

"No, she has another target in mind right now. Some old flame of hers."

The phone suddenly dropped from Stiles' nerveless fingers.

_**A/N – Hope this chapter didn't offend anyone. If it does, let me know in a private message (rather than a scathing review) and I'll edit it…I have another way it could have gone. Just thought it would be funny for Stiles and Kate to have a 'catfight'.**_


	8. Chapter 8

Stiles called Derek as soon as he hung up with Allison. The call went straight to voicemail. He left a message, waited 5 minutes and called back. Voicemail again. Stiles sent off a text:

_'Der, need to tlk ASAP'_

Stiles went out to his Jeep so that he could leave the moment Derek texted back. Nothing happened aside from Stiles making twenty complete circuits around the vehicle.

_'Der, yer old grlfrnd wants to finish wht she strted 6 yrs ago'_

Nothing for about a minute, and then:

_'There's a burned house in the middle of the Preserve. Meet me there.'_

"Yes!" Stiles shouted. He punched in _'Love ya, Der'_ and hopped in the Jeep, fired up the engine and went roaring off towards the old Hale mansion. When he got to the entrance, he stopped. Something weird was going on here. A new chain blocked the road.

"There's a burned house in the middle of the Preserve?" Stiles said aloud to himself. Not "Meet me at my old house" or "Meet me where you had your breakdown". It was as if Derek had forgotten that Stiles had already been there. Unless…

Unless it wasn't Derek.

Stiles quickly texted back. _'Almost there. Btw, my sis says sorry about messing up dinner.'_

_'Tell her I said its ok. See you soon.' _

A low growl came from Stiles' throat. He shifted, and the steering wheel began to warp under his grip.

"Oh, sorry baby. Daddy loves you." Stiles gave the slightly bent wheel a soft pat and got out of the car. On impulse, he checked the back of the Jeep to see if there were anything he could use. Opening the back door, he found an old red hoodie so dirty it was almost black. Stiles looked at it, then at his Day-Glo orange t-shirt before pulling the hoodie over his head. It smelled like engine oil, but at least he would be harder to spot coming. Under the hoodie was a Louisville Slugger. Ominous red stains clogged the grain of the wood…this mother had seen some action.

Stiles closed the Jeep and ran his hand over the faded blue paint. "Thanks for the gifts, baby. I'll put them to good use."

He jumped the chain and took off into the woods.

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Derek came slowly back to consciousness, wondering how long he'd been chained to the wall. Muttered comments from Kate's men about 'rabid dogs' flitted across his awareness, but he was in too much pain to focus on the words. No need anyway…he'd heard them too many times before.

Kate stepped into view holding the medium-sized cattle prod she'd been using on him all night. She flipped the switch, smiling as the sharp electric crackle split the air.

"Derek baby, glad to see you back so soon! Guess you have more stamina now then the little pre-pubescent twerp I let into my bed all those years ago. You tried _so hard_, but to me it felt like two pumps with my little finger. I might have hung around a while longer if I knew you'd turn into a total hardbody…but it turns out I've destroyed you for all other women."

Kate held up Derek's phones with Stiles' texts on them. "You went from werewolf to queerwolf…I guess the Hale family's dynasty comes to an end with you, in more ways than one. Sorry about your sister, by the way. Now, I know she was the Alpha…but _someone_ killed her for the power. Now be a good pup and tell me who he is, and I'll avenge her death _for_ you! Everyone wins!" Kate smiled wide, then leaned in close to whisper in his ear. "I may even give you another shot with me…what do you say?"

"Fuck you, that's what I say. Laura was cut in half…that's how _Hunters_ kill! Why are you saying a werewolf did it?" Derek had no idea what Kate's game was, but he was tired of playing it.

"Listen for a lie, Derek. We…did…not…kill…your…sister. Her throat was torn out when we found her. There! Any skips? Any upticks?"

Derek was wide-eyed. Kate was telling the truth. "Then why-"

Kate tsked. "We bisect the bodies so they can't resurrect. Once the body is no longer whole, the Worm Moon can't bring it back. Why am I telling _you_ this, Derek?"

Derek gave a pained laugh. "The Worm Moon? Come on, I can only think of one Hale that ever thought that was more than a load of horseshit. If you want me to help you, then tell me…did you kill my family, Kate? Did you start the fucking fire? Only _you_ knew exactly when we would be most vulnerable…because of me. Answer me, and I'll tell you anything you want to know."

Kate shrugged. "Okay. I did it. My stupid-soldier boy brother and his gilt-edged wife still follow that goddamned Code. The Hale fire was all me…and I'll be in charge of the Hunters as soon as they're out of the way, and I can prove that I exterminated the whole damn clan. Satisfied? Good. _Now who is the fucking Alpha?_" Kate jabbed the prod into Derek's side, causing him to shriek in agony. "Tell me, or we take apart your foul-mouthed little boyfriend when he gets here!"

There was a heavy wet smacking sound, and a part of a head and a few pounds of brain matter flew across the room to strike the wall just a few feet from where Derek was hung. A low roar split the darkness from which the glow of two amber eyes regarded Kate and her crew. Another whack, and a second half-head joined the first.

"Stiles, no! Get out of here!" Derek shouted.

The remaining two men faced off against Stiles, drawing their weapons and taking aim. In a move almost too fast to follow, Stiles ducked and swung the bat, shattering both kneecaps of the Hunter on his left, dropping the bat and grabbing the body for use as a human shield before it had even fallen to the floor. Bullets pounded into the screaming man's flesh, and Stiles shoved the newly made corpse at his partner. While the remaining Hunter struggled to get the body off him, Stiles snatched up Kneecap's gun and opened a red hole in his forehead. Two bodies hit the floor.

A sharp electric crackle snapped his attention forward. Kate zapped his wrist with the prod and Stiles reflexively pulled the trigger just before the gun flew off into the darkness, but the shot went wide. Stiles looked at the buzzing prod, suddenly taken back in time to when Sam Lahey used a similar (smaller) instrument on his boys to 'keep them in line'. Sam had gone too far with Isaac…Stiles was just learning to be defiant and had taught himself to ignore the pain, often shocking _himself_ with the prod to build up his tolerance. Isaac had no such defense, and Sam used the same high setting he needed for Stiles on the younger boy. Isaac went to the hospital within an inch of death…but he survived and Sam had talked his way out of it like he always did.

The pain caused the shift to fade, and Stiles found himself for the first time since being bitten in a transport of rage and an empty void where the wolf used to be. The _other _stirred inside him before pouring into that empty space, and now there was no wolf to hold it back. The raw visceral anger…that raging stranger trapped deep within Stiles' mind woke with a start and glared at Kate through his eyes.

Kate watched in triumph as the Beta features faded from Stiles' face. Pain always made them lose the shift, the wolf fleeing just when it was most needed. Pathetic creatures. She would electrocute him into oblivion, and Derek would watch yet another person he loved die, here in the charred mass grave of his dead family. It was almost poetic.

Kate held up the prod, waiting for her opening when Stiles grabbed the fucking thing, absorbing all of the juice into his body. Kate laughed out loud…he had made it way too easy…but now something weird was happening.

Stiles held onto the buzzing prod. He did not scream, he did not collapse and he did not even show a single sign of pain. He did not listen to Derek shouting at him before he passed out again from exhaustion. There was far more electricity since the last time Stiles had done this; Kate's prod was designed to kill…but Stiles was no longer a child, or even a human and certainly not in his right mind. Every muscle was stretched to the breaking point, jaws were clamped together hard enough to snap bone. His eyes filled with blood and his hair was actually starting to smoke…but he hung on, the flesh of his hand sizzling and burning as he squeezed the device tighter and tighter until it finally shattered in his blackened hand…and Stiles' brown and entirely human eyes never left Kate's the entire time.

"What the fuck are you?" Kate asked backing up. A fucking _Alpha_ couldn't do what this teen queen just did. She pulled out a knife and held it to Derek's throat.

In a voice that sounded like two rocks rubbing together, the boy told her "_You are just like the father. He liked to play with toys too. I broke your toy, and now I will break you…and then everyone you have ever met."_ Kate felt a chill run down her spine. He sounded perfectly confident in his ability to do this, and no evidence of giving a shit about Derek Hale's well-being showed anywhere on his face.

The damage to Stiles' body was healing itself slowly…and although the Beta shift stayed dormant, it was still a monster's face. The moment the healing was finished, Stiles went from standing motionless to running straight at her so suddenly she screamed. Whirling, she ran down the hall and through the open front door slamming it after her. The juggernaut that was Stiles smashed through it without even breaking pace or slowing down in the slightest. The most frightening thing about it (when she sacrificed a precious moment to look back) was the utter lack of expression. All he needed was a hockey mask and a fucking machete.

Kate poured on the speed, making it into the woods where she had a slight advantage. She was able to leap obstacles and dodge around trees while Stiles plowed _through_ everything as if the obstacles weren't there. He pushed at the trees one-handed, using them to correct his collision course with her without having to reduce speed. The gaining had slowed, but he was still gaining.

The destination she had been making for was just a few yards away. It was one of the Mountain Ash traps designed for just such an occasion. Kate leapt over the near-invisible tripwire, counting on Stiles to ignore it. As soon as he snapped it, suspended bags of the potent ash burst open and released their contents in a wide solid circle. Kate made it over the boundary just as she felt fingers scrape the back of her jacket. She ran another twenty feet and collapsed to her knees before she looked back.

Stiles was stopped at the border, and stood staring at her. Still no change of expression.

"You creepy _fucker!_" Kate shouted at him as she struggled to get her breathing under control. "I'm woman enough to admit that you're the first dog in about _seven years_ that's managed to scare the _shit _out of me, and that's why I am going to take sooooo much satisfaction in filling your hide with wolfsbane bullets! I'm going to walk to my car and take my time loading my gun with _Nordic Blue Monkshood ammo_…your death will be slow…and agonizing…and I am going to watch _every minute of it_, and I'm going to _pleasure myself_ while you die, and it will be the last thing you _will ever see_! HAVE YOU GOT THAT, PSYCHO?" Tears were actually pouring down Kate's cheeks…possibly the rarest substance in the whole world.

Stiles sniffed once, closing his eyes for just a second while he cocked his ears in a listening gesture. Then he pointed upward. And smiled.

Thunder rumbled overhead. Kate looked up, and wondered for just a moment if the God of this world hated her.

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_**Author's Note – I do, with a passion.**_

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Kate took off running again and made it to her car just as the rain came down. She burned rubber at the terrifying image of the downpour washing away the only thing holding that freak in check.

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Stiles came back to himself standing in the rain in the middle of the woods, dressed in a red hoodie.

'How the fuck did I get out here?' he wondered. 'Oh well, off to Grandma's house to find the Big Hot Wolf.' He followed his own backtrail to the house, wrinkled his nose at the odor of burning flesh that filled the room and scented around for remaining enemies. Finding none, he opened the manacles that bound Derek's wrists to the wall.

"Stiles? Who, what…" Derek murmured coming slowly awake.

"Shut up and look pretty until we get to your car." Stiles told him. Derek complied with both requests as they made their way to the Camaro that was parked right outside. After Stiles loaded Derek into the passenger seat, he ran back in and grabbed Derek's shirt, cell phone and the baseball bat that sent those two foul balls over the line.

Stiles drove them to the Preserve entrance and found the chain unlocked. Derek was fully awake now and looking at Stiles with admiration bordering on outright awe.

"I can't believe it. You're a brand new werewolf, and you rescued me from a team of Hunters led by Queen Bitch herself."

"That means you buy me dinner. No idea where she got off to, sorry. Wish I could have taken her out too."

"No, I need to be the one to do it. My family _burned_ because of her…she's _mine_."

Stiles looked away from him. "I thought _I_ was yours."

Derek looked alarmed. "Stiles, you know what I…" Stiles was grinning at him. Derek shoved him playfully. "Asshole." he muttered. "Thank you for what you did back there. Wish I could have seen you in action…the whole thing I mean. You grabbed that prod, and then I blacked out. What did you do? How did you fight her without the shift?"

Stiles shook his head. "I can't remember exactly, but I think the prod shorted out or something. I must have chased her then, because I came to in the woods, and she was long gone."

"Kate _ran_ from you? I really am sorry I missed that. You must be one scary motherfucker, Sty."

"You've seen me in the morning, with bed-head and Dragon Breath." Stiles smirked.

"You're beautiful in the mornings…and I love the taste of Dragon Breath." Derek leaned over and kissed Stiles on the mouth. "And I love you." Derek hugged him, and Stiles clung to him, amazed that someone in the world had said those words to him, and meant it.

"Der, I…"

"Shhh. I don't need you to say it back…not until you mean it. No pressure, no time limits…this is a bit soon even for _me_, but…well, it's hard _not_ to love a total badass who just saved my life. No one's done that for me, except my sister. I feel…safe around you, Sty. Like I'm at home. I haven't felt that in six years."

"Speaking of which…" Stiles looked at his watch. Curfew was in half an hour.

"Think the Sheriff will mind another sleepover?" Derek grinned at him.

"Sure, tomorrow's Saturday. But we _are_ stopping for fast food. I mean it when I say I'd kill for a burger."

So saying, Stiles got into his Jeep and followed Derek to the Burger Barn where he planned to bankrupt his new boyfriend.

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That Saturday morning was spent with Isaac watching cartoons and playing video games while the Sheriff (on one of his rare mornings off) made them a huge breakfast. Derek and Isaac bonded over their mutual love of Portal 2 and were able to get through all of the Multiplayer levels quickly (Stiles hated the game with a passion and had broken a controller in frustration over it). Stiles had a smile plastered on his face almost the whole morning, and the Sheriff was inwardly overjoyed. In his mind, the boys had come through hell and survived practically unscathed. Isaac displayed a resilience that was amazing for his age, while Stiles…well, the Sheriff had been really worried about him for a while there. The sullen anger that always seemed just under the surface was absent more and more. Derek too seemed to be part of their little family…he insisted on helping clean up after meals and was always extremely respectful of the Sheriff and the house rules he insisted on. He was overjoyed at the photo album Steven gave him, which featured pictures of the late Stella Stilinski not with just Diana Hale, but the rest of the Hale family as well. This was the first time Derek had seen his family since they died. They leafed through the album up in Stiles' room, and Stiles held Derek as he shed new tears over their loss.

Steven grew to like Derek a great deal that morning, and he loved the caring and protective side of Stiles that came out when Derek was around. The Sheriff felt he could be a real positive influence on Stiles, and he prayed that the two would remain together after whatever secret Stiles was worried about was exposed.

He shuddered to think what it would do to Stiles to be rejected and abandoned.

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After Derek left that afternoon, Peter called Stiles and told him to prepare himself. Thursday night was the full moon, and the Argents would be wiped from the world before it set.

"We need to talk, Pete. Things have been happening."

"Come to the plant. I'll be waiting." Peter hung up.

Stiles got there in his trusty Jeep in half an hour, and tracked Peter to the 'lair' he had made in one of the old labs.

"I met the Argents. I went to the house on a 'study date' with Allison."

Peter's eyes took on a dim crimson glow. "Continue."

"I got in and out without them finding out about my furry little problem. Chris and Victoria have got some issues, and Allison is just an average girl…but Kate is one evil fucked up piece of work."

"I'm glad you agree that she needs to pay for her crimes." Peter's voice was low…almost a growl.

"Oh, I do. Later that night, I found out she captured Derek and was torturing him at the burned out house…I think Derek's been using it as his lair…not very bright of him, but he didn't know about Kate until _she_ told him. Anyway, I killed her men, rescued Derek and got her on the run…but she escaped."

Peter's eyes widened in surprise. "You did that? _By yourself?_ That is very impressive…I wish I had been there."

"I would have called you if I had your cell number, Mr. Paranoid." Stiles glared at him.

Peter walked away a few steps, thinking. "Perhaps I have been a tad overcautious. It no longer matters in the slightest, however. By Thursday, this will all be over. Here is how we will deal with that wretched family-"

"Peter! This is what I came to talk to you about! There is absolutely no point in killing the rest of the family! Kate does not give a flying fuck at a rolling doughnut about them! She is hardcore insane and did everything on her own! She admitted Chris knew nothing about the fire! She's even trying to get rid of her own brother so she could lead the Hunters! Listen to this…"

Stiles took out his phone and played back the video he had taken the night he rescued Derek. Kate's voice made Peter snarl involuntarily as he listened closely to her words.

_"Okay. I did it. My stupid-soldier boy brother and his gilt-edged wife still follow that goddamned Code. The Hale fire was all me…and I'll be in charge of the Hunters as soon as they're out of the way, and I can prove that I exterminated your whole damn clan."_

"Peter…let's just kill Kate. She has it coming, and I think I am seriously going to cream my jeans when we eat her…but drop your beef with the rest of them. There's no point. They didn't do it, and it won't make Kate suffer any more if you kill them."

"They will want vengeance themselves. It is safer if they are out of the way. It might also teach other Hunters not to trifle with the Hale Pack."

"The Hale Pack? You mean Derek? He'll be an Alpha, and can handle any other Hunters. Besides…Chris and Victoria will be sent this video as soon as we kill Kate; that should make them lose interest in revenge. I'd send it to them now, but I think _they_ would take her out first."

"Why are you so interested in saving them? They're not your friends. Under certain circumstances, they would happily kill you and not think twice."

Stiles dropped his hands to his sides. "There's been so much death, Pete. I'm tired of killing. I have a chance at a real life now, and I don't want to blow it. Almost all the guilty have been punished, and I can live with what we did. When we start killing for no cause…we _become_ the thing we hate…that's what will destroy us, and if that happens…they win."

"A Pyrrhic victory, to be sure."

"Whatever that means. I personally don't want to give Kate the fucking satisfaction…it will ruin whatever torture she's getting in Hell."

Peter smirked. "There is no danger of that. No doubt I will join her there, and not all the demons of the Pit will stop me rending whatever black stain passes for her soul for all eternity."

"So…does this mean…" Stiles began.

Peter got a very tired look on his face and stood in quiet contemplation for a few minutes. Then, "I will consider your words. You may go." He turned and walked away. Stiles looked after him, thought about pressing him further for an answer…but decided against it. He left the plant and made his way home.


End file.
